Morning Interludes - by kyrdwyn
Rated PG-13 for adult themes and because I over-rate to save my behind should the story turn out different than from when it started.
Synopsis: How Grissom spends his mornings
Spoilers: Slaves of Las Vegas
The only person in this story I can claim copyright to has no name. The rest belong to the companies and actors that make CSI. Hope you enjoy. kyrdwyn
-----------------------------------------------------
He was nervous about this meeting. He knew he needed an outlet after what had happened over the past few cases. The roller coasters hadn't been helping with the nightmares. Unable to sleep one night, he'd stopped by the one place where he hoped someone could tell him what was happening. The one person who had read beneath the lines he used to confuse others.
Lady Heather had been surprised to see him. She'd offered him a drink outside on her patio. He hadn't said a word, but she'd known what was wrong. She offered him a solution, an outlet for the tensions he'd built up. One he'd be willing to accept. Not one of her girls -- he didn't need discipline or a dominant woman; rather, he needed something close to domesticity. A façade of normalcy in a life spent among the dregs of humanity. So she'd given him a name, a phone number. A friend of hers, not a professional 'working girl', who offered what he needed without strings, without attachments, and without questions. A friend who, when Heather explained the situation and the man, agreed to a morning meeting.
Her house was immaculate when he arrived at dawn. She was already awake, her table set for breakfast for two. China plates and crystal glasses gleamed in the light from the window, inviting him to sit down and relax. She handed him the morning paper and a cup of coffee. He smiled, thanking her. She was dressed in a simple green nightgown and robe, covering her down to her ankles. He could tell it was silk, but it wasn't anything fancy. It covered everything as she moved around her kitchen, pouring orange juice and removing the eggs from the skillet. She arranged everything on plates and carried them to where he sat at her dining room table.
They ate in silence for the most part, broken only by words necessary to the meal. She was a good cook, he discovered. He'd had very little appetite for the past few weeks, but today he finished everything on his plate. He reluctantly declined a second helping, but complimented her on her cooking. She blushed attractively and rose to clear away the dishes. He got up, insisting on helping her. Her smile was tinged with pleasure and she gracefully gave in. Together they cleared away the remnants of the meal. When the kitchen was clean, he felt awkward, unsure. She smiled at him, taking his hand and leading him to another part of the house.
Her bedroom was as unpretentious as she was. It was designed and decorated for comfort, he noticed. The king sized bed was covered in solid color cotton sheets, not silk or satin as he would have expected. The covers were turned down invitingly, the shades already drawn against the morning sun. Silk flowers sat on the dresser and nightstand, among the personal effects of the woman who was still holding his hand.
She seemed to read the uncertainty of the situation in his eyes. Rather than leading him over to the bed, she led him through another doorway into her bathroom. It was a large room, with dual vanities across from a large garden tub set into a raised platform. A separate room held the commode, and her shower was a large area surrounded by tile and glass, an opening for the door. It was to there she headed, turning on the water. He moved closer to the shower, noticing that along the top of the tile wall, on the other side of the glass, she had a variety of soaps and shampoos for men. She caught his eye through the glass and blushed again. He smiled slightly.
She came around to him, hands raised to help him undress. He accepted her help, amused by the way she neatly folded his clothing on the vanity. From a hidden closet in the wall, she produced a large towel and a bathrobe, hanging the towel on the rack and the bathrobe on a hook near the shower. Then she set a pair of cotton pajama bottoms on top of his clothes. She left him then, kissing him lightly on the cheek first.
The water in the shower was hot enough to wash off the griminess of the night. He stood there for several minutes, his hands against the wall for support, as he leaned into the spray. He finally made use of her soap and shampoo, once again amazed at what hot water could do for a person's outlook.
Turning off the water, he toweled off, enjoying the feel of the thick cotton. He carefully replaced the towel on her rack and picked up the pajamas and bathrobe. He slipped into them, and found a comb on her vanity. Once he was done, though, he stood there, uncertain. This wasn't what he was expecting. He had figured on something more physical. He almost hadn't come here this morning because he wasn't sure of the wisdom in that kind of relationship. She had surprised him, and now he was greatly unsure of what she was expecting from him.
He finally returned to the bedroom to find that she had removed her robe and gotten into the bed. She was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. She had pulled the covers up to her waist, and she looked up from her book to smile at him.
Feeling awkward again, he removed his robe and slid into the bed next to her. She had put her book on the nightstand and turned off the reading light, letting darkness reclaim the room. She turned back to him now, moving closer, laying next to him, her arm across his chest and her head pillowed against his shoulder. She didn't say a word or even seem like she was expecting anything from him.
Gradually, he relaxed. It seemed natural to let his hand stroke her hair, so he did. Her hair was soft and silky, and he could feel her smile and sigh. After a while, he began to talk, telling her about him - his interests, his hobbies, even some of his work. He held back on a lot about his job, not wanting the darker side to touch this woman who was quietly listening and not asking for anything in return.
As he spoke, he felt his restlessness, his unnamed fear of the unknown, begin to lift. He grew tired, sleepy, but didn't dread giving in. So he closed his eyes, not talking anymore. She moved even closer to him, one leg covering his, her mouth softly kissing the skin of his shoulder. He turned and kissed her forehead without opening his eyes. He drifted off to sleep.
He awoke when the day was well advanced. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what felt different. Then he realized - no nightmares. He hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, convinced some nameless thing was after him. He hadn't tossed and turned for hours until he had exhausted himself to where he could sleep. He had simply fallen asleep and slept deeply and dreamlessly.
She was still in his arms, still asleep herself. He looked down at her, feeling her breath against his skin. She sighed, moving closer to him, and his arms instinctively tightened around her, reassuring her he was still there.
He didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to leave this woman who worked magic with a simple smile and acceptance.
Rated PG-13 for adult themes and because I over-rate to save my behind should the story turn out different than from when it started.
Synopsis: How Grissom spends his mornings
Spoilers: Slaves of Las Vegas
The only person in this story I can claim copyright to has no name. The rest belong to the companies and actors that make CSI. Hope you enjoy. kyrdwyn
-----------------------------------------------------
He was nervous about this meeting. He knew he needed an outlet after what had happened over the past few cases. The roller coasters hadn't been helping with the nightmares. Unable to sleep one night, he'd stopped by the one place where he hoped someone could tell him what was happening. The one person who had read beneath the lines he used to confuse others.
Lady Heather had been surprised to see him. She'd offered him a drink outside on her patio. He hadn't said a word, but she'd known what was wrong. She offered him a solution, an outlet for the tensions he'd built up. One he'd be willing to accept. Not one of her girls -- he didn't need discipline or a dominant woman; rather, he needed something close to domesticity. A façade of normalcy in a life spent among the dregs of humanity. So she'd given him a name, a phone number. A friend of hers, not a professional 'working girl', who offered what he needed without strings, without attachments, and without questions. A friend who, when Heather explained the situation and the man, agreed to a morning meeting.
Her house was immaculate when he arrived at dawn. She was already awake, her table set for breakfast for two. China plates and crystal glasses gleamed in the light from the window, inviting him to sit down and relax. She handed him the morning paper and a cup of coffee. He smiled, thanking her. She was dressed in a simple green nightgown and robe, covering her down to her ankles. He could tell it was silk, but it wasn't anything fancy. It covered everything as she moved around her kitchen, pouring orange juice and removing the eggs from the skillet. She arranged everything on plates and carried them to where he sat at her dining room table.
They ate in silence for the most part, broken only by words necessary to the meal. She was a good cook, he discovered. He'd had very little appetite for the past few weeks, but today he finished everything on his plate. He reluctantly declined a second helping, but complimented her on her cooking. She blushed attractively and rose to clear away the dishes. He got up, insisting on helping her. Her smile was tinged with pleasure and she gracefully gave in. Together they cleared away the remnants of the meal. When the kitchen was clean, he felt awkward, unsure. She smiled at him, taking his hand and leading him to another part of the house.
Her bedroom was as unpretentious as she was. It was designed and decorated for comfort, he noticed. The king sized bed was covered in solid color cotton sheets, not silk or satin as he would have expected. The covers were turned down invitingly, the shades already drawn against the morning sun. Silk flowers sat on the dresser and nightstand, among the personal effects of the woman who was still holding his hand.
She seemed to read the uncertainty of the situation in his eyes. Rather than leading him over to the bed, she led him through another doorway into her bathroom. It was a large room, with dual vanities across from a large garden tub set into a raised platform. A separate room held the commode, and her shower was a large area surrounded by tile and glass, an opening for the door. It was to there she headed, turning on the water. He moved closer to the shower, noticing that along the top of the tile wall, on the other side of the glass, she had a variety of soaps and shampoos for men. She caught his eye through the glass and blushed again. He smiled slightly.
She came around to him, hands raised to help him undress. He accepted her help, amused by the way she neatly folded his clothing on the vanity. From a hidden closet in the wall, she produced a large towel and a bathrobe, hanging the towel on the rack and the bathrobe on a hook near the shower. Then she set a pair of cotton pajama bottoms on top of his clothes. She left him then, kissing him lightly on the cheek first.
The water in the shower was hot enough to wash off the griminess of the night. He stood there for several minutes, his hands against the wall for support, as he leaned into the spray. He finally made use of her soap and shampoo, once again amazed at what hot water could do for a person's outlook.
Turning off the water, he toweled off, enjoying the feel of the thick cotton. He carefully replaced the towel on her rack and picked up the pajamas and bathrobe. He slipped into them, and found a comb on her vanity. Once he was done, though, he stood there, uncertain. This wasn't what he was expecting. He had figured on something more physical. He almost hadn't come here this morning because he wasn't sure of the wisdom in that kind of relationship. She had surprised him, and now he was greatly unsure of what she was expecting from him.
He finally returned to the bedroom to find that she had removed her robe and gotten into the bed. She was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. She had pulled the covers up to her waist, and she looked up from her book to smile at him.
Feeling awkward again, he removed his robe and slid into the bed next to her. She had put her book on the nightstand and turned off the reading light, letting darkness reclaim the room. She turned back to him now, moving closer, laying next to him, her arm across his chest and her head pillowed against his shoulder. She didn't say a word or even seem like she was expecting anything from him.
Gradually, he relaxed. It seemed natural to let his hand stroke her hair, so he did. Her hair was soft and silky, and he could feel her smile and sigh. After a while, he began to talk, telling her about him - his interests, his hobbies, even some of his work. He held back on a lot about his job, not wanting the darker side to touch this woman who was quietly listening and not asking for anything in return.
As he spoke, he felt his restlessness, his unnamed fear of the unknown, begin to lift. He grew tired, sleepy, but didn't dread giving in. So he closed his eyes, not talking anymore. She moved even closer to him, one leg covering his, her mouth softly kissing the skin of his shoulder. He turned and kissed her forehead without opening his eyes. He drifted off to sleep.
He awoke when the day was well advanced. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what felt different. Then he realized - no nightmares. He hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, convinced some nameless thing was after him. He hadn't tossed and turned for hours until he had exhausted himself to where he could sleep. He had simply fallen asleep and slept deeply and dreamlessly.
She was still in his arms, still asleep herself. He looked down at her, feeling her breath against his skin. She sighed, moving closer to him, and his arms instinctively tightened around her, reassuring her he was still there.
He didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to leave this woman who worked magic with a simple smile and acceptance.