Work Party
TEASER: Grissom and Sara encounter a scene they've seen before. Response to the 08-08-05 Unbound Improv Challenge and sequel to "Hot Cross Buns on Steel" and "The Kissing Bug".
RATING: M for sexuality.
SPOILERS: Anything and everything, especially "Butterflied", "Weeping Willow" and "Grave Danger".
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. No matter how hard I wish or pray, they never will be. So I'm just playing with them for fun without profit. All of that goes to Bruckheimer, et al.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: You'll get more from this story if you read "Hot Cross Buns on Steel" and "The Kissing Bug" first. Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and vacation still rocks! First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, I've made it with 32 words to spare.
CSI CSI CSI
His hands covered his ears to block out the laughter. Grissom had an assignment the new Sheriff had made abundantly clear took priority over everything else except breathing, and that only because not breathing would prove detrimental to the completion of the assignment.
"They're planning a birthday party for me, I just know they are," he muttered as he stomped to his office. That didn't appall him nearly as much this year as it had in the past, yet another sign that Nick's captivity and torture had been a catalyst for change.
Sara's sweet voice carried over the others' as he closed his door. He took a deep breath to cool the flame of desire that welled within him after their weekend work party studying the kissing bug. And the butterfly caress, the Venus butterfly, and several things that had absolutely nothing to do with insects but a lot to do in sex in every room of his townhouse and all but one in her apartment. That one remaining room would be christened tomorrow afternoon in another work party. Investigating with Sara marked a big change, indeed.
With a heavy sigh, he flopped into his desk chair and pulled out the thick folder of paperwork the Sheriff expected him to review, correct, and sign before the end of the regular work day tomorrow.
Sara interrupted him several hours later, standing in his doorway with her hip cocked against the frame. He swallowed hard to keep his overwhelming desire in check as she said, "Hey, Gris? You need to eat something. It's way past lunchtime."
"I'm not hungry for food." Even he heard the huskiness in his voice.
She shivered, smiled, and took a step into the room, but didn't close the door behind her. "You won't have the strength for what will satisfy your appetite if you don't eat," she replied in a low, seductive tone.
"I won't have time for what will satisfy my appetite if I take time to eat." He waved his hand over his buried desk.
"So I'll bring you something." His face must have given away his inappropriate thought because she raised her finger and wagged it at him. "To eat, Grissom."
"Tuna on wheat with lettuce and tomato?"
"You got it."
True to her word, a few minutes later, she came back with a sandwich and a cup of Greg's extra-special coffee the young CSI only made for Sara. Grissom wondered for a moment just how disappointed Greg would be when he was told that Grissom had finally gotten his rectal-cranial inversion resolved before he turned back to his infinitesimally shrinking pile.
The sandwich must have done something to his concentration. An hour after the end of shift, the pile was gone. With great relief, he hand carried the whole stack to the Sheriff's office and dropped it in the middle of the Sheriff's desk.
At Sara's apartment, he found her sleeping with her arms curled around a pillow, just as he had found her curled up around him when he awoke yesterday afternoon. Not wanting to waste another moment without touching her, he stripped and slid into bed, tugging the pillow out and taking its place with such care that she only snuggled closer as he relaxed. He wanted this every day for the rest of his life and still marveled – or choked – at the fact that he had denied himself this for so long.
He awoke to the smell of toast and coffee wafting from her kitchen and followed his nose to find her standing naked at the breakfast bar. "Beautiful."
Sara blushed, but her smile widened. "Good afternoon, handsome. We have a room to christen after breakfast."
"That we do. Your office. But do we have to wait until after breakfast?"
She cocked her eyebrow at him. "Better to have strength from food, Gil."
He conceded the point with a blistering kiss.
Later, the look of wanton lust on Sara's face got them as far as the curtained window before he crashed into her. She clutched the window sill for leverage as she met him stroke for stroke, howling his name as she convulsed around him. The force of his own orgasm took him to the floor. Sara fell on top of him with a waterfall of giggles, her knee narrowly missing his nose and cheek as she came down.
"Wow."
"Wow." She took a deep breath. "Damn, Gil. That was . . . mind blowing."
"Want to do it again?"
"Can we at least try to make it to the bed this time?"
They did. Their newly acknowledged passion had to be banked for work eventually, but Grissom, freed from the tyranny of paperwork, could go into the field.
Good thing, as it happened. Their first call was dead bodies at what appeared to be an orgy, one man in a bathroom and a man and a woman in a bedroom at the other end of the house. Grissom looked at both scenes, then at Sara's look of surprised realization sent Greg to deal with the man in the bathroom.
"Uh, Gris?"
"Sara?"
"Does this seem familiar to you?"
He shifted uncomfortably and nodded toward the two bodies, the man on his back with his nose apparently shoved into his brain and the woman on her stomach with her knee resting on the man's cheek, a pool of blood seeping from her torso where she had impaled herself on something that stuck out of her back. "Yes."
She pulled on a pair of gloves. "I'll get the prints."
He watched, fascinated all over again by her body, as she powdered the area, finding prints exactly where they both expected to based on personal experience. A moment later, the gloved hand carefully lifted a print from the window sill.
--FIN--