Title: Not my type
Author: vibienne
Category: Grissom/Sara
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. No profit is made, no copyright infringement intended.
Rating: T
Summary: Grissom and Sara contemplate whether they are each other's type or not.
Special thanks to C for your help and input.
"You are not even my type," Grissom said in a low voice, tentatively tracing the line of her naked back.
"I beg to differ," Sara responded sleepily.
"Oh, yes?" Grissom chuckled, and continued his soft caress.
"Yes."
"How do you know my type then," he inquired.
Sara took a leisurely breath.
"Hmmm, well, let's see…actually, you might be right. The ones I have been aware of were, with only that one exception of your special friend we don't tell Brass about, blond, painfully feminine…and, especially in the case of your special friend we don't tell Brass about, sexy as hell."
Before she could sense the smile on his face, Sara continued, "But don't feel bad about it, Grissom, you are not really my type either."
His hand stopped moving across her naked skin, and Sara's face cracked into a luscious grin that he couldn't see as she was still facing away from him.
"Since when? What is your type?"
"Well, let's see. I love gorgeous, funny, real smart young guys. I think Nick, for example, is God's gift to women. He is definitely my type. God - and he has a body to die for. Whoa!"
Grissom responded with a painful moan. "I shouldn't have asked."
Sara was loving their playful little conversation, and she quickly decided to let him suffer just that bit more.
"And, I don't want to freak you out, Griss, but Detective Curtis - I know I don't really like her, but I wouldn't exactly kick her out of bed, either."
"Sara!" Grissom almost let out a girly scream and forcefully slapped Sara's thigh.
She turned around to face him, and her giggles made her eyes light up.
They lay there for a while, just observing each other, basking in the beauty of them being together.
Finally, Sara propped herself up onto her elbow and, with her other hand, softly touched Grissom's face.
"So, tell me, Dr Grissom, how do I fit into the equation then?"
"You don't, "he grinned back at her.
Sara thought about it for a little while before concluding, "Well, maybe that's the point. Eliminate the obvious, and here we are," she whispered.
Grissom shrugged slightly and smiled.
He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and carefully tucked it behind Sara's ear.
"Here we are," he poetically repeated.
Sara smiled back at him, thinking about the past years and most recent events that had lead to this lazy-Saturday-afternoon-loving in Grissom's bed.
Eventually, Sara rolled back onto her back, and looked up at the ceiling.
Another huge smile crept across her face, followed by a heart-warming giggle, and then a bright laugh.
"God, Grissom, I am exhausted. It's just ridiculous how good we are at this."
"Sara!" Grissom almost jumped at that comment and, again, slapped her thigh.
Sara Sidle momentarily winced in pain, and then just kept on laughing.