Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. If I did, we'd have physical contact by now.
Her hair was still wet, loose curls lying on her shoulders, making her robe slightly damp. Sara tightened the cap on her bottle of moisturizer and methodically put it back in the cabinet. She heard the second knock and started. If she didn't answer soon, he'd probably call her cell phone. She sighed at herself in the mirror, turned out the light in the bathroom and made her way toward the door. Something in her stomach swayed from nervousness to excitement and back again. He was really home.
Indignation made her pause. He deserved to be kept waiting.
The familiar tinny notes of her cell phone made her huff a silent laugh, and she detoured back to her kitchen counter to get it. The display lit up as expected: Grissom.
She answered with a monotone statement. "You are being very persistent tonight."
"Why aren't you letting me in?" He sounded childlike and eager, and it made her smile again. No, this was not the time to find him charming.
"You know, I'd like to actually talk to you," she began, but he cut her off with a comically high-pitched whine.
"Then let me in!"
She snorted and undid the chain first, and then the deadbolt, then she opened the door. Grissom was putting his cell phone in his pocket. He took a brief moment to take in her appearance, not quite holding back his appreciation. She'd showered again for some reason, and she knew that silk robe was an absolute favorite.
"Hi." He let his eyes linger on her face, and Sara fought the urge to grab and kiss.
He was coming toward her fast. The door shut behind him. He wasn't a stupid man by any means, but there were times—like now, when his obtuseness was astounding.
"You've been gone for four weeks," she reminded him, backing up. Without meaning to, her hands landed on her hips.
Grissom straightened, frowned, and then he seemed to visibly shrink. Sara could almost see him connecting girlfriend dots, because it was obvious that said girlfriend was not very pleased…
Left town with very little explanation.
Virtually no good bye.
Didn't call for four weeks.
Returned expecting open arms.
He blinked, and Sara swore his bottom lip began to protrude.
"You—" Nothing more would come out because surely he had to just know what he did was wrong.
"I know," he mumbled, wrinkling his lips and shaking his head.
"…Asshole," she finished, unable to stop herself.
"I'm sorry." He seemed to struggle for words, and then finally came up with, "It's what I do, Sara." He lowered his eyes shamefully and hoped she would initiate an embrace.
She did not. She didn't move from her position, and he began to worry that his mediocre apology wouldn't be enough. What if she were really mad? Like, forever mad. "I sent you that cocoon," he said, with sincerity that bordered on ridiculous.
She could only close her eyes and sigh. "Yes, yes you did," she said, and she let him put his arms around her. He gave her a squeeze and breathed into her neck, pressing a long, soft kiss against her skin just under her jaw.
She shivered, amazed at the overwhelming sense of both familiarity and comfort. They rocked a little.
"I, uh…I wrote you a letter," he offered with a hopeful expression, but Sara frowned at him—ready to sue the post office.
"But I didn't mail it." He kept looking at her lips, his hunger and distraction obvious.
Her smirk was born of one part amusement, one part intent to tease. "You know that doesn't count, right?"
"I still have it," he replied quickly.
Sara nodded and absorbed for a moment how sad and pathetic Grissom was. For some reason it made her care for him a little bit more. He was, after all, her socially inept entomologist. For the time being.
"You can read it later," he promised, kissing the other side of her neck, once, twice, and then a lingering wet slide into the dip of her collar bone.
"Later?" she managed.
His fingers were moving across her robe. "After I devour you."
"Grissom…"
It was the way he held her face in his hands—gently, but possessively, that made her insides flutter. Then the heartfelt "I'm sorry," he whispered made them flutter again. "I…" He kissed her finally, and she gave in to the longing for it, both of them to the desire and need.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too," she replied, smiling now.
He undid her robe and slipped his hands inside to feel the bare skin of her back. They were kissing passionately, only the mingled sounds of their shallow breaths to be heard.
"I won't do that again," he said, putting his forehead to hers.
"Do what?" She blinked at him, dazed from the heat they created.
"Leave you like that."
She scratched the back of his head, fingers lightly caressing his hair, and kissed his cheek. The accusation begged to be made. "Yes, you will."
"No, I won't." He tightened his hold on her, momentarily ignoring the fact that she had nothing on under that robe. He stared into her face with a nervous, hesitant gaze. Sara swallowed and stared back, feeling the moment become important.
"Something became very clear to me while I was gone."
"What's that?"
"I love you."
Her eyebrows rose and fell, and she tried to breathe, process, and respond. It felt almost like a kick to the stomach, his declaration was so surprising. She had never been the kind of woman who swooned at an I love you, but she realized suddenly that it may have been because the right kind of man had never said it to her. Until now.
She managed a sweet, encouraging grin and pulled him closer, saying nothing. She nuzzled his new beard for a long moment. She liked it—a lot, aware now that she'd missed it. Grissom seemed puzzled by her interest, but the attention pleased him nonetheless. He wished she would say something. Do something.
Then she pecked his lips playfully and offered a goofy smirk, which made him smile. She kissed him again and hugged him and whispered in his ear, "You just made it better."
He uttered something that sounded like, "Good," into her mouth.
"And I love you, too." He noticed the catch in her voice, and decided to ignore it. No, he wasn't big on emotional reunions. He glanced down at her open robe and grunted. God, he'd missed her. He began pushing her toward the bedroom as they kissed. Then Sara turned them around and became the pusher, which thrilled him a little. She had his jacket off and his shirt half unbuttoned by the time they got to the bed.
"You know, I almost kissed you tonight," he said, after he kicked off his shoes and joined her on the mattress.
"Hmm?" She seemed distracted by the button and zipper of his pants.
He lifted his hips and helped her remove them, enjoying the feel of her hands on his rear end. "I almost kissed you in the hall, at work."
"Oh, I know! You need to stop that."
"I know." He was sucking softly on her neck. "And you stunk." She laughed and shrugged the robe the rest of the way off.
It was a while later, when they were naked beneath the sheets, that he noticed she had tears in her eyes. Despite the biological need to have her, he felt an equally strong need to comfort her.
"Honey, why are you crying?"
She shut her eyes and squeezed him. "I don't know, just… be quiet."
"Sara…" He kept kissing her cheeks.
"Just, have sex with me," she whined, trying to smile at him, but he looked all sad and contemplative.
He stretched out over her and studied her face. He didn't like the idea that he had caused her pain. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you, right?"
"I know…" She rolled her eyes and blinked a few times, but her eyes stayed moist. "I just, wish I had known for sure that you were planning to come back…" She buried her head in his neck, no doubt embarrassed about her reaction.
"Sara…" Her words shocked him. God, had she really thought he was leaving her? Thinking back about their parting, he realized it could have easily appeared that way to her. No wonder she was so upset.
He sighed hard and hugged her, unable to resist moving his body against hers in a sensual way. "You just need to marry me, so we don't have these misunderstandings."
Sara laughed through her tears and instinctively spread her legs. She held his face in her hands, stroked that beard and sighed happily at their union. "You are kidding, right?" she whispered, kissing him.
"Not really, but I don't want to argue about it right now." He began moving more steadily, eyes sliding closed from the sheer pleasure.
"You want to marry me?"
She was lifting her hips in time with his, driving the pace. When he looked at her, she had that adorable crinkle in her brow, and he wanted to laugh at her. "Can we talk about this later?" He was close to losing control, and he didn't want to say something stupid. Even he knew proposing to a woman mid thrust was just… wrong.
"No! I…oh, God…I missed this…" She was riding the rhythm of their lovemaking, lolling her head back in bliss. "Did you really just say… marry you?"
"Later!" he grumbled.
She snorted a little, and he laughed in her ear, and then they just couldn't really form words anymore. It was guttural noises and sloppy kisses, beautiful sex between two people in love.
Well, she certainly wasn't going to bring it up, even though some part of her desperately wanted to. They were lounging in bed, naked and stated, avoiding each other's eyes. Neither of them spoke—fully aware of the potentially heavy situation that surrounded them. Sara considered offering him an out. He'd missed her, and he was obviously very horny. Surely he didn't mean to propose. Yes, that sounded like the best choice—an out, because otherwise, she was faced with the possibility that he really wanted to…
Marry her?
She hadn't even noticed what he was doing at first. Grissom was holding her left hand in his, toying with her ring finger—purposely rubbing the very spot an engagement ring would go. When she caught on, she pursed her lips, trying to look unamused.
When their eyes met, he simply raised a brow at her with that boyish grin that made her weak in the knees.
She laughed and yanked her hand away from him, smacking him in the chest with it.
"What? You could!"
"I could what? Marry you? Have you gone insane?" Her accusation was cushioned by the enormous smile on her face.
He shrugged and pulled her closer. "Probably…" He didn't feel the need to contemplate his mental capacity at the moment. He was happy. Sara made him happy. And he was home. "Just…think about it."
Sara suspected that was all he had to say on the subject, so she snuggled up against his warm chest, closed her eyes, and answered, "All right. I'll think about it."
THE END.