A/N-Haven't written for CSI in awhile so I'd figured I'd contribute. I wanted to write something 1.5k words or less and this is what I got. Hope you like.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters or the CSI universe.
Sara never knew what pushed them to perform this familiar dance with each other. He'd knock on her door, quietly with just a tinge of shyness that came from the expectation of being turned down. She went through his pre-visitation rituals that had become customary, absolutely necessary to this dangerous dance that they performed. Her body always began in a crumpled state next to her door like she was thrown there haphazardly while he waited outside her door looking equally rejected.
These late night meetings nearly killed her more than having to work beside him every day knowing that their work relationship was a façade. Love was a word that never entered this affair between them. Love would require an acknowledgement between the two of them that these late night meetings were wrong and inappropriate. Acknowledging anything more than sex would have rendered her sanity obliterated beyond repair.
She opened the door and he would stare at her. No words were needed to express the emotions that they already were familiar with. She'd move out of the way and he'd quickly enter the space she'd provided. As he tried muttering some meaningless nonsense about the sudden cold front or his pet tarantula, the waves of pity and revulsion began to seethe out into the darkened apartment. All of the effort left in her corpse of a body was focused on keeping upright as she waited for the inevitable; that inevitable look or touch that would set this illicit affair into motion. He was always quick to whisper to her after these meetings that she was the cause of all of this, his excuses ranged from the obvious ("You wanted me as much as I wanted you.") to the absurd ("Your husband would want you to be happy and I obviously make you happy. He'd approve, don't you think?"). His weak attempts at rationalizing this affair never improved her mood.
Suddenly, he grabs her roughly but quickly asks her if she's alright. He cared so much about her that it was awe inspiring, frustrating, and distressing. He was always continuously forcing her to be unfaithful to a man that understood her like no one else but were her actions really the result of his force? As he raked his hands up her body in the shadows which always evoked the same response, a congested groan that seemed to be unlocked from her soul as her body searched for those damn fingers, she couldn't help but wonder, were these typical actions of a woman forced into her predicament?
He pushed her back against the first hard surface he could find and as the piles of Crayola shades of colored magnets formed around their feet she realized with a sudden burst of excitement that they were against the refrigerator door. She was embarrassed at the equally sudden deluge of wetness that soaked her panties and began to slowly seep toward the jean covered muscles of his thigh. A single moan pried itself from her locked mouth and even in the semi-darkness of their makeshift sexual grotto of kitchen equipment she could see his brown eyes shine with the smile that was painted on his face. A smile spread across her mouth with the knowledge that he was happy with her response.
He never wasted time with the barriers she frequently put between them. She constantly told him that there was no rush, there never was a rush. Her husband would never show up unannounced.
Today he was pleasantly surprised that her typical barriers were practically nonexistent except for a bath robe that she had put on after taking her third shower that day in preparation of his visit. The sound that exited his voice was predatory as he wasted no time putting his scorching mouth onto every part of her goose bump covered body. Whenever they had the time to talk about these midnight affairs, it was always a running joke that he was such a stud. He would laugh with the increased masculine pride that comes with that word being referenced to any man but she hardly meant it as a compliment. He was a stud in the fact that he was quick, aggressive, and to the point with every one of these encounters. His job was to take what he wanted and he made sure to do it efficiently.
The bathrobe was gone and he had sufficiently seen enough of her body to get him ready to take what he wanted from her. The flash of a small aluminum square was followed by the small sound of the zipper holding that particular piece of his anatomy that she had become quite familiar with over the last couple of months. He slipped the protection onto his erection and wasted no time inserting it into her like it was the lost key to a door that had been left unopened for several years. She hated this part and always wished it to go faster as her eyes closed in a last-ditch effort to block out the mindless thrusting and grunting that accompanied these affairs. With each thrust of his member into her hot seeping crevice she could feel him grow harder and larger inside of her. With this increased physical prowess came his mindless attempts to go further inside of her than any man before him always became more apparent.
This time, however, his animalistic technique was replaced with a more careful approach that had an emphasis on slow and steady. She growled her annoyance at this change because if he kept going like that she was most definitely going to give him not just her body but the knowledge that he could make her feel the same pleasure that he experienced during these moments. Never had he ever made her orgasm during sex and that made these times manageable.
As her husband returned every month for his typical length of two days she would jump in the shower with a bar of industrial soap to attempt to get the last remnants of him off her body, put on something conservatively sexy (her husband hated anything that was too flashy or boring), and began her slow shuffle to his condo. As she passed through each stoplight on the way to his place the guilt would begin to wrap it's tendrils around her heart until it became nearly impossible to drive, nonetheless breathe regularly. She wanted to see him but it made her sick to her stomach to stare into his love enraptured eyes and avoid the truth of her actions while he was absent. She couldn't bear to tell him that one of her closest colleagues had eaten a piece of the pie that was supposed to be all his.
The man thrusting slowly into her increasingly tight sex however knew nothing of these struggles as he continued on at his maddeningly slow pace. Her orgasm was sneaking up on her as it began to coil in her lower stomach and extend to her limbs before she had a chance to stop the pleasurable feelings that descended into every part of her being. A low groan extended from her mouth as a result of the release of tension that had, unbeknownst to her, been building in her muscles. With a squeal of excitement, he sped up his actions and as the usual sounds of wet flesh on flesh entered my ears she could feel his erection begin to pulse inside of her for the last time as the white hot ribbons hit the inside surface of the condom. For the first time they had reached their climaxes together and she couldn't stop the bile and undigested food as it raced up her throat.
Her vomit landed on his shirt and she crumpled back toward the cold wooden floors for the second time that night. The tears fell unceremoniously and he sighed before leaning back onto her white granite topped counter. He wasn't even trying to console her. He got what he wanted, everything that happened afterword was extraneous.
"I want you to leave. Please…just go away, I don't care where...just leave." She said with her last attempts at bravado but she knew it was useless. He would be at her door again in a couple of weeks with that same look of pity and she would let him in. Guilt be damned, she was still his friend, no matter how much it made her sick to even look him in the eyes. As the tears rushed from her eyes and mingled with his own tears on the wooden floor, Sara finally understood the true meaning of exhaustion.
A/N- Who's the man who's making Sara cheat on her husband? Hmm...I'll let you guys guess. :)