Disclaimer: Dear CBS, if you hadn't made them so beautiful I would be borrowing someone else's characters instead wouldn't I, so therefore it's your own fault!
Author Notes: A big hello to all the wonderful readers of my WIP story Stars in Motion, sorry for the delay on that story, the next chapter is giving me grief but I'm battling with it. (You'll all, hopefully, understand why when you read it!)
This one was just a whim… pure fluff.
If you were looking for a time frame for this I'd say early to mid season 6.
Holding Patterns.
By Rianne.
He had forgotten what this felt like.
Holding.
Being held.
Making contact with a warm, breathing, gently sighing person.
Just the sight of her in his bed.
The idea that this could be a regular occurrence if he wanted it to be.
Sara in his bed when he came home from a shift.
Or both of them climbing into bed together.
Smiling sleepily.
Curling for warmth.
For comfort, for contact, for pleasure.
So simple, so welcoming.
So previously out of reach he had forced it to be unimaginable.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Dating seemed such a silly and childish word for what they were doing. She was in her thirties, and he his late forties for goodness sake. Surely someone had invented a word which was better suited than boyfriend or girlfriend to describe such a relationship between adults.
But whatever title you wanted to put to it, it was going well.
Really well.
Tonight they had shared a good meal. He had cooked, a talent she had newly re-awakened in him. They had shared a really good bottle of deep red wine.
It had been so much more comfortable than their last date; he had insisted that it be casual this time. Formal had made her far too nervous, which had in turn made him a complete wreck. No, this time he had offered to cook, inviting her to his place, he had hinted that he wanted her to be comfortable and he had been pleased to see her arrive looking nice and relaxed in soft trousers and a tank top.
The movie they had watched later had been an old one, black and white.
Yet it hadn't been about the film. Neither had paid the characters and their misadventure much heed.
It had been far too pleasant to slide lower on the sofa, and rest their heads together, her cheek to his chest, his temple to her crown.
The food and the wine enveloping them in a sweet and lazy haze.
Her eyes had lulled and the next thing she had known was him scooping her up, carefully, romantically. Cradling her body close to his as he had made his way into his bedroom, lowering her to the bed with the utmost care.
His bed, deeply comfortable, had smelt powerfully of him.
She had made an attempt to question his actions, but he had soothed her, kissed her forehead softly, made wordless soft murmurings.
She had lain there blinking slowly, dazed by her new surroundings and wondering.
He had moved away then, easing the comforter over her body, and then he had been gone.
She had waited, more alert now, suddenly a million miles from sleep, unaware that a few feet away in his bathroom he too waited. Staring at the man in the mirror, seeing his distress and his desires. Knowing that what he wanted was simple, innocent, but that he was afraid to ask, and afraid to take without asking.
o0o0o0o0o0o
She forced her nerves down when she heard him return. Unsure if she wanted to give in to her desire to bury her head in his pillow and squeal wildly, or to simply spend the time willing herself to relax.
The room was dark; artificially dark of course, the thick blinds keeping the Nevada sunlight out. It gave her camouflage. Allowed her the luxury of pretending to still be asleep if she wished.
Her visual senses impaired she heard his slow movements about the room more sharply, heard him remove his shoes, heard something unzip and the careful attentions of clothing folded.
Then nothing.
What was he doing?
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck were tingling in that way that always seemed to alert her to his nearness, to the fact that his intent gaze was on her.
Was he going to watch her all day? Was he going to chicken out and sleep on the couch?
Then the bed dipped slowly. Her eyes closed to the darkness, it was the only way she could contain the nerves, the excitement she felt.
He shifted closer behind her and she felt his heat. Felt the bed covers waft in a wave of cooler air a moment as he arranged them over himself.
Then there was silence, barely broken by their faint breathing.
She tried to will herself to relax.
But that was certainly easier said than done.
She heard him sigh again, and then fidget some.
Then in one uncertain motion his hand came down to rest lightly on her hip, before cautiously drawing her closer.
Her eyes flew open, blinking wildly at the darkness before her.
His touch was shaky, his chest rising and falling rapidly, causing it to brush against her back. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he settled closer, his hand sliding over her hip ever so slowly before his palm came to rest, curving affectionately over the faint convex of her stomach.
So gentle, she bit back a gasp, her heart swelling so big in her chest, her vision blurring as tears welled at the tenderness of his actions.
The lump rising in her throat had halted the whimper of surprise that had threatened to escape.
With a shuddery breath herself she fought the urge to suck her stomach in.
His touch was so light, yet the heat of his palm sank into her. Such a simple caress, but an intimate one. He was touching a part of her that was very personal, vulnerable, a part of her she considered imperfect, that made her self conscious, yet he touched her with such reverence, like she was precious to him.
There was a pause. And the tenderness rolled again as she realised that he was most likely waiting for her to move away, to dislodge his touch, and that saddened her. She wanted this so badly, couldn't he see that?
Blowing all pretence of sleep she lifted her own palm from where it lay lonely on the mattress before her and gently placed it over his. Her slimmer fingers sliding tingles through her as she caressed over the top of his hand before easing her fingers in between his much larger digits, squeezing lightly in comfort.
She didn't want him to feel the need to ask for permission, but she also needed to encourage him to act on these sweet impulses without fear of rejection.
A fool could have recognised her acceptance. With a longing sigh he squeezed her fingers back, as he moved even closer. Fitting her back into the curve of his chest, his hold about her middle tightening reflexively, his fingers taking up a still slightly nervous caressing motion over the soft material of her tank top creating a lovely warming friction.
He was so broad, he felt so warm, and comforting, and safe.
She had not expected this and that was what made it all the more wonderful.
He was a man who liked his space.
That she knew.
He liked his quiet, his organisation, his clear un-muddled spaces.
His boundaries.
He was letting her break them down, slowly but surely.
Little bit by little bit.
But that was the key phrase. He was letting her.
Her advances had been welcomed, yet this was the first he had made in return.
He had been overly cautious, had treated her carefully, had checked and double checked for permission.
And that she had been able to deal with, for a while.
But to keep waiting? How long did you wait?
This 'thing' between them had been slow to reach full burn, but it was simmering now.
She had been nothing but patient with him the entire time they had known one another.
Well, patient in most things. But patience had always been hard for her. It tested her weaknesses and her strengths.
They had always been un-quantifiably close, able in matters of work to finish each other's sentences, to communicate without words. It had simply taken longer for them to settle into the ways of just being together without the buffer of science and the Lab and its rules.
The intimacy had always been there, tangling in and out of their complicated friendship and buoying their burgeoning attraction. But now it had new weight, new possibilities, all good, but tinged with nervousness and worries.
They were so familiar to one another; they knew so many random little things, yet there was so much left to learn.
She'd been patient, she had known he would need that, but she had so desperately wanted him to make that step, that one gesture. To show her that he was as invested in this as she was. Any sign would have done. She had just wanted him to want to make it.
She knew he was nervous and vulnerable, but so was she. She needed his reassurances as much as he needed hers.
And he had done it. Finally.
He had reached out to her, literally, figuratively.
And this, yeah, this was a surprise.
She had been imagining words, he was a man of words and consideration after all.
In a way a simple physical gesture meant so much more.
The warm weight of his touch. The sleeve of the soft cotton t-shirt he wore brushing against her bare and deliciously sensitive upper arm.
It confirmed it.
He had reached out and touched her, embraced her, wanted to initiate the contact.
He had finally realised that he could.
He really did care about her.
She'd always wanted to be held like this by him. It had been the daydream she had clung too, as she had clutched her pillow to her breast and sobbed after the hardest shifts.
The path to their current entanglement had been slow, but it had also been at times satisfying, frustrating and emotionally fulfilling.
Worked hard for.
He was a creature of habit. She knew how hard it must have been for him for him to adapt. To take risks. He was breaking his routines to be with her.
But there was of course no better encouragement than realising your dreams were not only achievable, but also coming true.
Yet she was still taken by surprise by the little things.
This vulnerable Grissom was very new.
It wasn't like he had ever shied away from any of her light physical affections, quite the opposite in fact, he had always welcomed her touch with a smile, and even more if they were alone and he had always been forgiving when she just couldn't help herself.
She knew she pushed him sometimes. Flaunted the unspoken rules between them.
But she liked to touch. Sometimes she just couldn't keep her hands away and all the little ways of teasing him at work came flitting through her mind and taunted her to make contact with him.
A brush of fingers here and there, leaning so close her breasts brushed his arm.
Just because she knew now that she could.
It was fun to tease him, provoke him, so easy to get a rise out of someone usually so stoic.
Especially when she knew there might be some pleasant repercussions, when she knew that he was free to act on all the responsive impulses she saw gleaming in his eyes that told her he was onto her and her mischief.
But he hadn't acted quite yet.
Kissing him had been wonderful, deep, heated, hungry, lasting for hours. But their touching had been less, light, more restrained. She wanted more, wanted to share complete intimacy with him, but he was holding back.
That was something she just would not push him into. Not just yet anyway. She was still comfortable enough to wait a little longer on that front. Pleasantly frustrated and enduring it well.
And so instead she was taking advantage of this time. Without questioning her good fortune.
This time to get used to being close to him. This time to enjoy the temptation, the anticipation, the building desire.
She was learning him.
Learning his private ways, the ways she wondered if he had ever shown to another.
But she didn't linger on thoughts like that. The past didn't matter. The present did.
And in the present she lay, curled and wonderfully warm in his arms.
And closing her eyes she luxuriated happily in his rare show of affection.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Decency dictated that he should have slept on the couch. It was comfortable enough, he knew that from experience.
Yet this was Sara, temptation personified.
The idea of her sleeping in his bed all alone.
Not to mention the fact that she would probably be angry that he didn't sleep beside her. He could picture it now, she would say he was being stupid, old fashioned, she'd mock him and he hated when she did that. He always had. He'd always wanted to kiss that smug look right off her face.
And now he could, if he wanted too.
And suddenly that was a problem.
Adjustment was a word he didn't like. And that made him officially an idiot. What man in their right mind wouldn't want to climb into bed with the woman that lay curled in his arms right now?
What man in his forties would hold back in offering his affection out of respect, when he knew full well he could restrain himself in respect to his other baser drives, hell he'd been doing it for years.
But it was different now.
He had unspoken permission to touch her if he wanted too.
She reached out for him whenever she wanted to, usually at the most inappropriate times.
She made it seem so effortlessly easy.
If someone could manufacture something, anything, which would stop his ears from turning bright red whenever she touched him at work, when she knew damn well she shouldn't, he would forever be indebted to them.
He'd name a bug after them!
But he didn't want to rush this. Didn't want to give her the idea that he wanted to rush or pressure her.
What rule out there dictated that adults in a relationship had to leap straight from kissing headfirst into bed?
No one could honestly expect a relationship started like that to last.
And he had too many hopes, and dreams, resting on this one to make him uncomfortable enough already.
It was all going so well, yes there were awkward moments, but he'd dated women in the past when the entire date could be classed as one huge giant awkward moment, but with Sara…
He couldn't mess this up.
Yet procrastination was a huge failing on his part. It was great for solving crimes, murderers had been caught, liars, rapists, arsonists, yet when it came to women…
Taking risks, albeit calculated risks, was officially terrifying and all at once exhilarating.
He'd done it.
To the outside world he had simply wrapped his arm about her.
Yet in terms of them and what really mattered it was a triumph.
He had pondered it for more than an hour. Ever since he had realised that not only was she not watching the film, or just resting her head on him and daydreaming, but her eyes were closed and she was essentially asleep.
The tempting idea had drifted in to his consciousness as he had peered down at her as she leaned against his chest, the slope of her nose, the long dark eyelashes that lay still against her sweetly freckled cheeks.
He could actually place a date on the invention of this particular and extremely simple Sara fantasy. Many of the other daydreams, certainly many of the much more salacious imaginings his brain had conjured, he couldn't remember when, but this one was sharp.
He had wondered what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her ever since he had come across her asleep in the break room. She had collapsed, slightly sprawled like a rag doll with her head supported on her arms over a table, as if she had intended to rest her eyes for just a moment. It had happened only a few months after she had arrived in Vegas. They had been working on the case of Kay Shelton, killed by her abusive husband.
He hadn't known then what he now knew about Sara's past, but the urge to protect her had been new and overwhelmingly uncomfortable to him at the time. Especially as she had followed it some hours later by asking him if he wanted to sleep with her. Yeah, that had been a conversation and a half.
His whole body had surged at her blunt words.
He'd wanted too.
He hadn't been able to shake the idea of holding her just like this.
God, had it really taken him that long to get to this point?
But he was here, and she fit into his arms so well.
She had welcomed his touch, he wasn't sure why he had doubted that she would, but her encouraging clasp of his hand had made his heart soar.
She cared about him.
He wondered if he would ever be able to get into bed without her again.
He'd feel so lost, so lonely, the bed so empty.
She was warm. Her warmed skin sweetened the air around them.
She smelt faintly of coconut and something softer.
Her tumbled curls tickled his nose as he nuzzled intimately into the curve of her neck hearing her sigh, feeling her squirm closer.
The scent there was warmer, stronger.
She smelt like comfort.
When was the last time he had held, or been held for that matter?
It was painful that he didn't remember.
He had craved this kind of contact with her for so long.
He was so tired, but he didn't want to close his eyes, not yet anyway.
He didn't want to miss this.
But her breathing was beginning to slow.
Her body rising and falling, against his arm, against his chest.
His own breathing settling into a rhythm with hers.
Slower and slower.
As they surrendered to sleep.