Disclaimer: Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom would like to be mine. They recognise that I would let them enjoy themselves. I offered TPTB my entire life savings… Sadly CBS said 'No Deal'. (They clearly know the pound sucks against the dollar right now!)
Author Notes: Hmmm… warm and fluffy. I found a small scrap of paper with literally just a scattering of this story on it. And as it doesn't fit in with any of my other WIP stories (as they are brand new relationship in setting) I gave this idea its own little moment in the spotlight!
Plus; I am trying this whole not writing thousands and thousands of words idea! So far… all is good!
To Kiss, Perchance To Dream.
By Rianne.
God he loved it when it was like this between them.
Drowning in warm lazy kisses.
Sweet, sleepy, and soft.
Intimate.
The kind of moments he had never believed he would ever share.
Not with Sara.
He had never known they could have this together.
Angry, feisty, awkward, wounded, maybe.
Passionate, definitely.
But this, this warmth, this vulnerability, this achingly sweet and affectionate romance.
That had always been the ultimate dream.
The unreachable fantasy.
The feared step beyond himself.
To the man he didn't know if he could be.
She had always been the one thing he just couldn't allow himself for the strangest myriad of reasons.
A fear of weakness, of loosing his resolve and concentration.
A fear that others wouldn't understand.
A fear of damaging her career.
Of making a laughing stock out of his.
And for a more deep-seated fear, a fear of letting another person close, another whom he knew held the power to hurt him beyond all explanation.
A fear of being vulnerable.
Of actually finding that someone who saw the real him and loved him and didn't judge him for being who he was.
Yet here he was.
Somehow he had done it.
He still couldn't quite believe it and yet his bravery was rewarded on a daily basis.
He was so much more relaxed.
With lower stress levels.
Higher powers of concentration.
With someone who cared how his day had been.
And the real bliss of it all was this.
Waking each evening.
Entangled and adored.
Enjoying these simple delights that he had never thought he would ever be brave enough to ask for or to encourage.
But he seemed to find himself falling into lately.
Falling willingly in her open arms.
Curling her close.
Lying side by side in the dying evening light.
Sliding his fingers over her downy soft skin.
Cupping her cheeks.
Tracing the sweet dusting of girlish freckles he had somehow forgotten she possessed.
Feeling her lean happily into his caress.
Despite the faint scratch of the pad of his thumbs, or maybe because of.
Just drinking her in.
When she was still only half aware.
When her closed eyelids fluttered in response to his coaxing touch.
The way her lips curved up at him in a growing smile.
The way her hair, sleep mussed and tangled, felt as it slid through the responsive creases between his fingers.
Her whole body relaxed, and slowed.
Comfortable.
Warm to the touch.
And so easily stirred.
Her heart beat resounding just under her skin.
The building tempo of her pulse.
Tempting him to kiss the places where it leapt and jumped.
Just to feel it happen.
To encourage it to happen.
Her head lulling.
Becoming heavier in his supporting hands.
As her own hands took up motion.
Finding their way to the back of his head.
To the greying curls.
Massaging slowly.
Dragging her short nails over his scalp sending shivers reeling.
Her eyes still closed.
Sliding her touch into his beard.
Thumb over his lips.
So light.
Why had he fought his?
This trust.
Easiness.
This warm affection.
This love?
Her hands sliding up his chest.
Palms warm and gentle.
On the return path their glide as slow as the closed mouth kisses she pressed to the line of his jaw.
Her breath puffing out against the scratch of his beard.
Against the sensitive skin of his throat.
Her lips pressing to his already bobbing adam's apple, making it throb and evoking a groan.
Her fingers sneaking under the cotton of his t-shirt on an upward sweep.
Tightening the muscles of his stomach, but out of response to pleasurable sensation, not pride.
She loved him.
Loved even his expanding waist, and ticklish flanks.
Or at least she used them against him in the very best of ways.
Making him squirm and laugh out loud, her reaction always one of triumph.
There was nothing to fear here.
Why had he ever doubted?
Why had he sacrificed this?
These moments of real happiness.
These moments of quiet togetherness, where no one else existed.
Where everything fell away at the edges of their mattress.
Bringing their world down to the uncomplicated island of their tangled bedding.
Their beating hearts.
Their easily gliding limbs.
Hearing her sigh into his ear.
Hearing her groan.
Their smiles.
Their breathless laughter.
Their teasing melting into sensual, heated kisses.
First the barest brush of skin to skin.
Over and over.
Tempting.
Teasing.
Heightening the anticipation.
Driving the tiny nerve endings wild.
Panting breathlessness.
Breezing over flushed skin.
Then falling.
Sinking.
Warm mouths aching, encouraging the easy slide of lips, the eager swipe of tongues.
Those welcoming nerve endings sending tingles from lips to brain to heart.
Thousands of sensors registering every stroke.
Every slow suck.
Every exploration.
Taste, tickle, and smile.
His hands seeming heavy and awkward, but touching her with a newly found confidence.
He knew now what she liked.
How to coax her.
How to guide.
But he still liked to surprise her.
To hear her cry out enchanted.
To encourage her to feel confident.
To know how beautiful she was.
How sensual.
How loved.
Keeping the pace slow.
It was always slowly; that was the best.
With Sara Sidle slow and steady obliterated the race.
There was of course something to hungry, vibrant and fast, but that belonged to a different hour.
And in moments like this seemed like a different lifetime.
No, lazy and slow to stir Sara would always be his favourite.
Warming her slowly.
Thoroughly.
With unrivalled concentration.
Overwhelming focus.
Pleasured her more intensely.
And connected them.
Made their love stronger.
If that was even possible.
And it gave way to a whole new dimension of feeling for him too.
Stroking skin just to feel the sensations of contact.
Of human connection.
It bred a hunger in him he hadn't known he possessed.
Created a magical bubble of serenity, a happy place for his mind to return to in times of trouble and worry.
A home.
Turned him into a sappy old man.
And he didn't care.
Especially when she lifted his shirt, breaking away from their kiss with a gasp, to allow its progress.
Tossing it into the furthest reaches.
Letting him know she was ready to move further.
Move beyond.
Letting him know she wanted to really feel him.
Skin to skin.
Her shirt was gone then too.
Melting away into the growing shadows.
Then her lips met his skin.
Her hair stroking.
Her fingers soothing.
Whilst his ghosted warm over her back.
Feeling the velvet arching bumps of her spine as her lips slid dangerously lower.
Her fingertips brushing his knees, making him jump.
Sliding with excruciating progress up the inside of his thighs.
The crisp hair on his legs catching and tingling, standing on end and they were certainly not the only thing.
He aided her in the removal of his cotton shorts.
Kicking them away.
Trying not to hiss and break the mood as tender skin brushed against the soft curve of her belly.
But she smiled sultry and almost wicked anyway.
Her eyes glittering in the amber of the fading sunlight.
With his own daring grin he caught her waist and swung her up and over him.
Bringing her down, with her soft hair falling over her eyes, her long limbs landing with practised ease.
He lowered her perfectly.
Hearing her sigh again, her eyes lulling closed.
Then they were kissing again.
Her hips starting to rock.
Slowly rubbing the simple cotton of her underwear against the ridge of him.
Her bare breasts tracing light teasing trails across his chest.
Stimulating and torturous.
Their heartbeats banging out a message of love against their ribcages in the most human of ways.
Ahhh, he could do this all day and never tire of it.
Although a certain straining part of him might have more to say on that matter.
He gently eased away from her kiss.
Blinking up into her heavy lidden chocolate eyes.
Seeing everything he'd ever dreamed of there.
Love, lust, desire, trust, a sweet kind of satisfaction.
Laced with a deeper, sensual hunger.
He guided her back, palms cupping her face again.
Then his touch grazed downward.
Down her throat, feeling her slow swallow at the look in his eyes.
Trailing down, never breaking the stroking caress.
Cupping her breasts, watching her head rolling on her shoulders, her mouth falling open.
Lower still, making her squirm, increasing the tempo of her rocking hips, as his touch tickled.
Curving his palms to her hips he rocked her too, his eyes closing to enjoy the sensation, before he slid his touch around to her lower back.
Feeling her squirm intensify as he found her ticklish spot.
He hooked his fingers into the sides of the elastic, and she reluctantly lifted so he could ease them away.
Kick them loose.
With a giggle of frustration, her eyes creasing, her smile a quirk.
Then she was back, and his fingers were searing a trail up towards the heat of her.
Her cry straight into his open mouth was wild and wonderful.
Then he was sliding slowly.
Sinking.
Easing into her aching heat.
And she was breaking their kiss to cry out.
The warmth of her sound too much, too overwhelming for the cavern of his mouth.
But just perfect for the tender protective cocoon of their bed.
And then they were lost to it.
To the motion of their strokes.
To their friction and the heat.
To the slick, sensual glide, and groan.
To the blur and the sweat and the sounds of pleasure.
To the cradle of arms.
And the love, which soothed them down.
As they really fell.
The sweetness bursting in their bellies and flooding their veins.
Rushing contentment and release through each sensual nerve.
Murmuring, 'I love you.'
As their bodies collapsed.
Yet their hearts raced on.
Just perfect.