Dog-Day Afternoon
Written by kadh; story by fcmercer and kadh
Seduction runs amok when Hank gets involved.
Follows after the story "No Place Like Home." Takes place between episodes 717 "Fallen Idols" and 718 "Empty Eyes,"
circa mid-March 2007.
For Joey - Something a little naughty than usual in honor of your birthday (a little late, I know)
and with special thanks to Zoe whose antics inspired this story in the first place
One
Grissom tossed his keys onto the table with a little more force and irritation than necessary, before he impatiently knelt to unclip the leash from Hank's collar. The dog took off without a backwards glance.
Grissom wearily shrugged off his jacket. As he did so, a bemused voice drifted up from the kitchen.
"I though you were just taking Hank out for a pee."
"I thought so, too," he replied, hanging up his coat. "Seems Hank had other ideas."
"Have a nice walk then?" Sara called.
"More like a run."
"I didn't think you ran," she laughed. "I thought that was what the rest of us were for."
Grissom shook his head as he replied, "It seems I neglected to inform Hank of that fact."
"I didn't think Hank ran either."
"Neither did I. Turns out he does," he replied, trudging down the steps, feeling more than a little hot and sweaty as well as tired.
It had been after two when he had first come home after pulling an extra few hours of dreaded paperwork patrol beyond what should have been the end of shift, and he would have loved to have begged off taking Hank out, but the dog deserved at least a little attention. Although a brisk afternoon jog in the nearly ninety-degree heat was not what Grissom had had in mind.
"I see," Sara said, glancing out from behind the open refrigerator door. She gave him a thorough once over, before giving him a wry sort of smile. "You don't look too pleased about it. Is that why he skulked off to the bedroom? Because he knows he's in the doghouse?"
"Probably," he answered coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder. "What may I ask are you doing in my kitchen?"
Sara shut the fridge as she explained, "Well, as it was taking you so long to get home, I was thinking about starting on something to feed you, but if you're going to be cranky..."
"Not cranky, just concerned," he said and gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek.
"You look hot."
"Your gift for pointing out the obvious is as remarkable as always, dear."
"And sarcasm has never suited you, Gilbert," she retorted blithely as she brushed past him towards the center island. "Why you insist on wearing a jacket in this heat I will never know and don't tell me it's not that hot out because it's a dry heat."
She was pleased to see that he managed a smile at this.
Sara pulled a glass out from under the counter and went back to the fridge to fill it with both ice and water before extending it to him.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. He sipped at it at first, but then quickly began to gulp it down. He set the empty glass on table.
"You might want to pace yourself," Sara teased, taking the glass up again. "Another?"
"Please."
"You hungry?"
"Not really," he admitted. He emptied the second glass slightly slower this time; she refilled it again without asking.
"Better?" She asked after he had finished the third one.
"A little," he replied with a sigh and noticed for the first time, that she was staring at him and had been staring at him for quite some time now. "What?" He asked, slightly self-consciously.
"Guess I am still trying to get used to you without the beard."
"I didn't have it that long this time," Grissom countered.
"I know."
Then something clicked. "Oh, wait," he began, shaking his head ruefully, "I know that look."
"What?" She inquired innocently.
"Sara..."
"What?" She repeated.
Grissom tried not to grin as he said, "Hot and sweaty is not sexy, dear."
"Goes to show what you know about women, dear," she retorted. After a moment, she asked, "You still hot?" with what he knew to be a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Yeah, why?" He answered warily.
"I think I might have an idea for how to cool you off."
As she closed the distance between them, he said, his voice a little breathier than usual with expectation, "Why do I get the feeling that a cold shower is not what you have in mind?"
"It isn't."
"Then?"
She reached for an ice cube from his glass.
"That better not be going down my shirt," he warned.
"A razor blade doesn't phase you, but you are afraid of a little ice? Don't you trust me, Gil?" She smiled sweetly.
"I though I had already answered that question recently."
"Then just sit down and shut up."
"Yes, dear," Grissom replied, taking a seat on the stool at the far end of the island.
Sara came up behind him and began to rub the ice cube along the back of his neck. Grissom leaned forward and let out a long sigh.
"Better?" She whispered into his ear.
"Much," he relied, closing his eyes and starting to relax.
Until Sara did something he did not expect; she popped the ice cube into her mouth and holding it taut between her lips, began to again apply it to the back of his neck.
The sigh became something more akin to an involuntary moan as Grissom shivered with the pleasure of the combination of the cool of the ice and the warmth of her breath and lips.
"Cool enough for you yet?" She asked, pausing for a moment.
"No," he breathed.
"That is because," she began, reaching over his shoulders and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt, "you're still wearing way too many clothes."
Then suddenly the overwhelming sensation of the coolness and warmth against his bare skin returned, but this time, it shifted from his neck to his shoulders.
"Did I ever tell you how brilliant you are?" He murmured.
"No, I don't think so," she said.
"You are," he almost gasped. "Absolutely brilliant..."
"Really?"
"Mmmmm," he answered incoherently and reached back to bury his fingers in her hair.
At this, Sara accidentally let go of the ice cube and it slipped down the back of his shirt.
This time Grissom did gasp and sputter and spun to face her, "That's it," he said.
"It was your fault," Sara protested as he playfully grabbed her and pinned her against the table.
"Really?"
"You distracted me."
"So it was all my fault?"
"Yeah."
"You mean like this?" He leaned in almost as if to kiss her, but instead reached for an ice cube from the glass and proceeded to drop it down her front.
Sara shrieked and cried, "Gil Grissom you are so dead," as she struggled to dislodge the ice from her bra.
"Need some help with that?" he asked in a nonchalant tone and without waiting for her reply, slid his hand up her shirt to retrieve the cube. But instead of merely removing it, he slowly ran it down her chest to her stomach. Sara shivered.
"Cold?" He inquired with a grin.
"No," she said almost breathlessly as he let the ice fall to the floor, but did not remove his hand. Instead, his other one joined the first under her blouse. He drew her to him as his hands inched their way up back up.
"Now who's overdressed?" he asked.
"It is getting a little warm in here," Sara conceded, drawing the top over her head.
His eyes followed the path of his hands, lingering as his fingers did now, on her chest for a moment until they continued up her body until they met hers. He leaned in and kissed her gently at first, but then the kiss deepened into something far more hungry and insistent on both their parts.
When they broke away several long moments later, Grissom said, "Sara --"
"Yeah?"
"Are you awake enough now?" He asked and this time it was his eyes that were filled with mischief.
"Awake enough for what?"
Before she knew it, Grissom literally swept her off her feet and into his arms.
"Gil --" She stammered in surprise.
He kissed her quiet. "Just enjoy it," he said and they kissed again and stumbled towards the bedroom, too absorbed in each other to quite be sure of where they were exactly going.
When he managed to bump them into their second doorway, they both laughed and broke apart.
"Maybe it would be a better idea if..." Grissom suggested as he eased her back to the ground.
"Maybe," she said, kissing him again and tugging him forward.
They staggered into the bedroom hopelessly intertwined only to find Hank luxuriating in the middle of the bed apparently fast asleep.
"Hank, down," Grissom ordered.
A little bleary-eyed, Hank peered up at the two of them for a moment before closing his eyes again.
Grissom turned to Sara and said, "This is definitely not one of those occasions when you just let sleeping dogs lie."