Red Hot
TEASER: Grissom has a birthday present to unwrap. Response to the 7-18-05 Unbound Improv Challenge.
RATING: T for sexuality.
SPOILERS: Through Season 5.
DISCLAIMERS: In my dreams, I'm wealthy enough to make Bruckheimer, et al., an offer they can't refuse. Alas, this dream has not yet come true, so nothing except what little plot there may be here belongs to me, and I'm not making any money from that, either.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and enough of the South Texas weather in New England, already! First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, the story is exactly 1000 words.
CSI CSI CSI
"I see you've been exploring."
Grissom turned at the sound of Sara's voice. Dignity prevented him from denying the obvious truth of her statement, so he gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile and took a step back from the cabinet over the break room sink. "I was, ah, looking for some of Greg's special stash."
She shook her head and her hair shimmered in the light as it moved with her. "Grissom, you know Greg keeps his stash in his locker now. You groused about it all last week when he was on vacation."
He felt the flush rise in his cheeks. Leave it to Sara to remember a small detail like that. Time for distraction, and hopefully a hint that the sinking feeling in his gut about an impending surprise party had some validity. "Say, have you been invited to my birthday party at Catherine's?"
Sara laughed. "Oh, please, Grissom, Catherine would no more throw you a birthday party than she would shave her head."
"Hmm, I suppose you're right. It is odd, though, that she invited me to her house for my birthday."
"Maybe she wanted you to have an excuse so you couldn't be sucked into something stupid with Brass, like a surprise party you would hate." She shook her finger at him. "And for the record, no one is storing your presents on site this year. The few who needed to learn the hard way did so last year."
He grinned, thinking about the crestfallen faces of the three techs who thought they could hide their gift from his investigative skills. He hoped he had more than made up for it by expressing his honest delight at the mounted Australian cockroach Euzosteria mitchelli.
"That's assuming, of course, that anyone is giving you anything to unwrap."
He closed the cabinet with a sigh and settled for a cup of bad coffee instead of an early peek at his birthday presents.
CSI CSI CSI
"Catherine, are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?" Sara sat at Catherine's kitchen table watching the swing shift supervisor prepare a steak for grilling.
"The steak? Absolutely. He hasn't had one in a month, doctor's orders for his cholesterol."
"That wasn't what I meant, but if the overall scheme is good . . ."
Catherine's gleeful laugh both amused and scared Sara. "You're just lucky I let you in on it. We were just going to book a hotel suite and lock the two of you in it for the weekend."
"We?"
"Brass, Warrick, Nick. Greg's not too happy but he understands why this is necessary."
Sara blanched. "There's no escape for either of us, is there?"
"Not unless you come out kissing with your arms around each other, no. God, Sara, if I could figure out how to plug your brains directly into each other, I would. But this will have to do." She wrapped the meat in cellophane and stuck it on the table to come to room temperature. "You did and brought everything, right?"
Sara nodded. "Everything on the list, some of which I don't understand."
"Just go shower. And let your hair dry naturally, don't blow it straight. He loves the curls."
Uncomprehending but compliant for fear of disappointing her friends – and deathly curious about the rest of the evening – Sara headed upstairs for a luxurious shower. By the time she had dried off, put her sexiest undergarments on, and done her makeup, her hair was dry and she could think about putting on her clothes again.
Except that in place of her clothes was a slinky red dress that perfectly matched the color on her salon-crafted finger and toenails, and where her own sensible Birkenstock sandals had been before sat a pair of red spike heels that would be too tall for the legal building height limit in Washington, DC.
Sara laughed as she put on the dress and shoes, thinking she would look ridiculous, Grissom would get a good laugh, and they would have a perfectly normal evening being uncomfortable with each other but unwilling to name it and get past it. But when she stepped in front of the full length mirror, the image in it transfixed her.
For the first time in her life, Sara felt pretty.
Not just pretty, but sexy.
HOT.
Scotch Bonnet pepper hot.
Melt the Ross Ice Shelf hot.
Drop Gil Grissom dead in his tracks hot.
Resurrect Gil Grissom in all the right places hot.
She heard his voice downstairs as he grumbled at Catherine about her need to run to the store and leave him unattended at the grill. "I shouldn't have to cook my own birthday steak, Catherine!"
"Oh, quit whining. I have company upstairs, so don't be alarmed when you hear someone coming from inside."
Sara could tell that his reply of, "Whatever," went to the closed door. She gave Grissom a few minutes to calm down, then made her way downstairs in the heels she could never wear in the real world.
She slid the patio door open.
He turned.
She smiled.
He whistled. Then his eyes went wide. "Sara?" he gasped out, dropping the tongs from his hands.
"Happy birthday, Dr. Grissom." The growing smile on his face gave her courage. She stepped toward him.
"Do I get to unwrap you?" She had never heard such a deep rumble in his voice. Her whole body tingled at the urgency in it.
"Yes, Gil."
He lunged for her and pulled her into a crushing embrace. His lips burned into hers, as hot as molten steel, and the fire consumed the oxygen all around them.
When they couldn't breathe any longer, they parted, their panting accented by the sizzle of the steak and vegetables on the grill.
"I should, um . . ." he gestured toward the grill.
"Not yet." She pulled him back, intending a kiss that would blow the top off every scale of heat measurement yet invented. Surely one more couldn't hurt.
--Fin--