They made love in the morning.
The second time they made love it was in the morning after a very, very long evening at work. Kissing the crest of her ear had started it all, igniting a fire between her legs. Grissom's lips had then trailed-at a leisurely pace-down to her neck and back up to her lips. Taking their time, they worked over each other's body at their own discretion.
Laying there, sweaty and unbelievably sated, Sara allowed herself to drift off to sleep finding it amusing how utterly clichéd the moment was. He'd tuckered himself out and had very nearly fallen directly to sleep after he had rolled off of her. It was nice to know that he was a man at least. Tucking her under his chin, Gil fell to sleep with his right hand curled protectively around her breast.
After a few hours of blissful slumber Sara shuddered awake, her dry lips smacking loudly in the dull silence of the bedroom. After getting up and dragging herself through the library and into the master bath, she found herself needing more than a simple remedy to a parched throat; she needed sugar. On a hunt for orange juice, she made her way out into the hallway once more.
Sara found her way around his obscenely large place at night as though she knew it. Even as she awake, groggy and sore, she found her way easily down the long hallway to the stairs. It struck her how well-off Grissom was. There were few developments in Las Vegas that offered two-level floor plans and even fewer that rented to own.
Making her way slowly down the stairs her senses woke to the lush carpeting beneath her feet and the heavy mahogany of the banister. Sara's fingertips curled around the cool wood, waiting for her senses to catch up with the wonders she was thinking of in her head.
The second floor of his home was intensely unlike the ground level. Though downstairs was very orderly and efficient, the second level seemed to be decorated for aesthetic reasons only. The concrete of the small kitchen was much different than the rich carpeting in the upstairs library.
His library, decorated in a style more appropriate for a New England manner, was very subdued. Burgundy walls and lamps that caught the eye. The ceiling light seemed to be of no use, the four floor lamps in every corner and the three on various desks and end tables casting the majority of the light. High-backed arm chairs with matching cherry bookcases occupied the majority of the floor space. It was a truly beautiful room that made her think of Vermont in winter instead of the warm weather of a Nevada February.
The first time she had entered the room, a fit of laughter overcame her; she had noticed the faint light being cast in from a room to the right. And, heeding his suggestion that she explore while he went out for groceries, Sara did as told. The sight of a large, intensely modern and equipped master bath startled her. Who put such a large bathroom in...
And then it hit her, a warming wave of affection smoothing down her veins. The master bedroom was larger than the other rooms. He had chosen the largest room for his literature, taking one of the smaller ones as a place of rest. Sara had taken one long look around the spacious, inspiring room and snagged the first book she could get her hands on, a thick volume of academic essays detailing the works of Hemingway.
When he had returned home, he'd found her perusing the pages of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, brow scrunched in confusion. "How many people can be named Aureliano... it's..."
"Literary device," he mumbled, shuffling into the room, slippers scratching on the floor as he held out a baby carrot to her. "Marquez is attempting to merge the past, present and future. He's attempting to prove the bond of family and attempts to detail how the past influences not only the present, but the future."
Sara blinked and chewed slowly on the carrot. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a know-it-all?"
That evening his words meandered to similar talk but that time of Antigone and Creon and Sara had lain with her head in his lap and his hands on her hair and a glass of wine respectively. That night they had almost made love for the first time but that plan had run awry after he'd made her quiver with his tongue and then yawned into her mouth. In no need to rush things they had thrown themselves onto his lush pillows and slept, either of them on either side of the bed.
The way the night began-the afternoon during which they first made love-seemed incredibly domestic to the both of them. Grissom had been seated at what he'd come to call his "workstation"-a large, dented metal desk-perusing a collection of notes he'd taken years before. Sara had appeared in the doorway-clinging in that alluring way that women were prone to do-and watched him work. Though he'd known that she was there, the scientist in him had chosen to override the whims of the male and had read through the last of his hastily-scribbled diction.
Smiling, she had begun to swing herself back and forth, her fingers barely clinging to the dark wood. Grissom had looked up at her own the top of his glasses and smiled and she knew that it was the night. It wasn't a conscious decision not to have sex, it was simply that either would become too wrapped up in something and the timing would be off or the mood would be wrong or one would fall asleep on the other.
Grissom efficiently "closed up shop", reorganizing his notebooks and specimens quickly before making quick work of switching off the desktop lamp. Standing on knees that popper with experience, he deftly swiped his glasses off of his face. Following her to the bedroom, he had tossed the two hundred dollar, prescription spectacles onto the bedside table without care. "Are you feeling... tired?" he'd asked, strong hands encapsulating her hips.
Sara had shaken her head 'no' whilst swinging her hips in his grasp. "Nauseous, upset or overwhelmed?"
Again the absolute shake of her head had told him all he needed to know. A slight chuckle had escaped his lips as he leaned in, finding himself swaying with Sara. "Well then, what's say we get this party started?" And for the first time since she'd begun having intercourse, she found herself laughing giddily in a man's arms.
His shirt had gone first and he hadn't stopped talking from the moment her lips had pulled from his. He was telling her how amazing the moment was, how appropriate, telling her other things that made her laugh just as she gasped. He spoke around her nipple when he bit it, mumbled to her when he was in the valley of her breasts. He made it awkward because he knew it would be awkward and really... their first time was just... nice. It wasn't exactly erotic or hot or long-lasting but it was nice. Their first time was nice in the way a cold beer is at the end of a long day, in the way that sinking into a hot bubble bath is, in the way that a gentle, deep tissue massage might be.
They had both awoken that even to sore limbs and bruised lips. It was nice to know that they had the night off and could do it all over again. And yet they didn't. Upon waking up they both realized that breakfast was more immediate and then a shower and nap. The nap turned into a well-needed sleep and they both woke up just in time to get ready for work.
The aftermath of tonight was turning out to be much different; as she found herself in the living room, Sara glanced bleary-eyed to the clock in the corner, squinting in an attempt to make out the position of the hands. Eleven forty-five. Wiping the last vestiges of slumber from her eyes, Sara shuffled into the kitchen, the concrete cool on her feet.
Fumbling fingers curled around the handle of the refrigerator and yanked, a soft, yellow light casting itself over the floor. She leaned in, grabbed the carton and-after looking back and forth rather conspiratorially-popped it open and took a long, hearty swig. A bright smile crept up onto her face just as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I don't like waking up to find you gone," he rumbled, his hair delightfully mussed, eyes still clinging to the last wisps of a dream he'd been dreaming.
Startled, Sara juggled the carton and almost dropped it, balancing it out in her hands at the last second. "Jesus Christ Gil! Don't scare me like that!" She raised one hand to her head to push the hair out of her eyes while the other placed the counter carefully. He was smiling sleepily, looking at her as he leaned himself on the wall behind him. "Wha... what?" Instead of remaining in the staring match she had found herself in she spun to retrieve a glass from the cupboard.
Grissom yawned, seeming to settle himself harder into the wall. "No, it's just that... I wouldn't mind the whole... waking up next to you every day... thing." Sara paused, bringing the juice up to her lips.
"Did you just... are you... I'm sorry, Gil... it's late and I may be hallucinating but... did you just... invite me to... move in?" Her mouth was dry and she was sure-quite sure, in fact-that her knees were two-point-five seconds away from seceding from her body. Again she blinked and took in his appearance: old, flannel pajama pants and a baggy, white tee-shirt and he was the man of her dreams.
Grissom cleared his throat, quickly crossing his arms over his chest. "That's what I-"
Everything went fuzzy; everything went fuzzy a little too quickly.
"Because if you did then-"
"Really don't think it's such a bad idea-"
"And, I mean if you're really asking and-"
"If you just... slept here for the next-"
"I, uh, sure."
"Ever."
They blinked; they stared. "What?" they both said at the same time.
Grissom sighed, closing his eyes slowly as his head lolled against the wall. "Because... I just came down here for a glass of juice,"
Sara said helplessly, holding up the glass, shaking it, in front of him though he was looking at her. Her voice was low and helpless and though it did slice easily through his heart, it brought a smile to his lips. He smiled and shook his head against the wall, eyes still very much closed.
"I just came down here to find out where you were... and don't drink my juice right out of the carton, it's not sanitary." His smile grew to a grin as his eyes popped open. She couldn't tell if he was serious or delirious or was simply being insane after having gotten thoroughly laid. It really didn't much matter to begin with.
Sara smirked, raised a brow and grabbed the half-empty carton, reaching to place it back in the fridge. "Your juice? Or ouuuuur juice."
Grissom shrugged and smiled, "Dunno, not time for semantics, time for bed."
Heeding his suggestion, Sara nodded and stepped back into the living room. "So, do I get to designate a side of the bed now or what?"
"Talk about it in the morning," came his quiet mumble, his hand on her lower back as he led her up the stairs.
Sara's laugh came loudly, abruptly, "Will you remember any of this in the morning?"
"Shut up, shhh, bed time." He shuffled them down the hallway a bit as they reached the landing.
Sara spun and threw her arms around his neck, catching him by surprise, meshing their bodies together, hips to chest. "Hmmm, I need to pee in your library first," she whispered while nuzzling her nose against his cheek.
Grissom sighed and squeezed her hips, "Okay, but mind the first editions."
He stepped away, scratching the back of his head as he made his way towards the bedroom. "Love you," she called.
"Come back to bed," he called back, his body disappearing into the darkness.