SMUTLET EIGHT

This story is in response to the 24 Hour Smut-a-thon FF Challenge on CSI Forever Online. In celebration of our 3rd anniversary on August 19th 2014. Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle. Set kinda in Season 2. GSR. Smut. Rated M, obviously. Complete.

CHAPTER ONE

Grissom sat in his office reviewing requisition forms but his mind kept wandering. As so often happened, his thoughts were on a certain tall young brunette. The same young beautiful CSI who had confused, attracted, and kept his heart in constant flux for 4 years, was again on his mind. He wanted her, needed her, loved her, but had convinced himself he couldn't have her. For some reason Sara had maintained her devotion unwaveringly and made no bones about her attraction, despite his hot and cold treatment of her. Of late he had been particularly cold and brusque.

Last week she called him on his bullshit, threatening to quit unless she was treated with more respect. Other than tell her the 'lab needed her' and sending her an orchid, he was at a loss as to how to improve their relationship.

As the clock approached the end of shift, Sara Sidle appeared in his doorway. Grissom brightened but his throat closed up and as usual he was baffled as to what to say.

"So, if you don't need me, I'm going to take off. I have class in 20 minutes."

Class? Grissom's interest doubled. Academia was where they met and where he felt comfortable—perhaps this was a start.

"Class? What are you studying?"

I knew that would get his attention, Sara smirked to herself. "Weaponless self defense," she responded out loud. "Time to upgrade my proficiency."

"Ah. I'm, uh, pretty rusty. Do you um, think I could tag along?" he asked hesitantly.

"Hmm, well it's mostly women, but we could ask Kyle. He's pretty cool."

Kyle? Cool? Grissom hated him already. With a struggle he kept his face impassive.

"Do you have any workout clothes here?" Sara asked. Belatedly, Grissom noticed that she was wearing one of his favorite tank tops, the olive green one, and some kind of stretchy dark-colored pants and black sneakers.

"I, uh, yes, I think so. In, um, my locker," Damn it, I'm stuttering again. It's that tight tank top and the long neck…breasts…skin…look at her eyes, pervert, not her chest… "Can you wait a few minutes? Where is this class?"

"In the basement of the police department. Workout Room 4. How about I meet you over there, and I can ask Kyle if it's okay?"

"Sounds good." Grissom quickly gathered his paperwork, shoved it in a file, and closed up his office. He hurried to the locker room, breathed a sigh of relief when he found the gym bag in the back of his locker, and changed into a navy long sleeved LVPD T-shirt, and some standard grey sweatpants. He didn't have any other shoes than what he had on, but based on past experience these classes were done barefoot.

He spotted Sara's Prius in the LVPD parking lot and parked next to it. Gil dashed through the familiar halls to the elevator, descended to the basement, and with two minutes to spare he found the correct room. A little out of breath, Grissom peeked inside the safety glass on the battered yellow metal door. There were about 15 women in workout gear, stretching their legs and calf muscles, swinging their arms, and engaged in light conversation. The center of the room was covered in a thick blue padded mat that crinkled as you walked across it.

As Grissom went inside he saw the neatly arranged shoes along the wall and removed his own leather loafers and socks. His bare feet felt extra sensitive and he wondered how long it had been since went barefoot outside of his house.

Sara was at the front of the class chatting with a man that was obviously Kyle, a tall muscled blond guy, about 30 years old, wearing the white pants and jacket of a gi, the standard attire of a karate instructor. His belt was black. Just then Sara laughed cheerily at whatever Kyle Karate (as he instantly dubbed him) was saying. Gil frowned.

Seeming to sense Gil's presence, she turned, gave him a bright smile, and introduced the two men. They sized each other up as they shook hands, gripping each other's knuckles painfully. Kyle was about 6' 4" and had perfect white teeth. Grissom wanted to knock them out of his head, but muttered darkly, "Pleased to meet you too."

"As I was just saying to Sara," he winked at her, as Grissom's eyes narrowed, "we do need another punching bag." Kyle looked him over. "I think you will do, as the bad guy that attacks the ladies in law enforcement. Average height, weight, with strong arms and shoulders." Grissom puffed out his chest and sucked in his gut. Kyle took off the jacket and revealed a tight yellow shirt that showed off his pecs and abs.

"Ladies! Can I have your attention, please? This is…Gristle, was it?"

"Grissom," he answered tightly, "Gil Grissom."

"Grissom here will be our aggressor tonight. Line up and go through your warm-up please, while I kit him out." Kyle led him to a closet and handed him what looked like a black padded plastic diaper. Grissom started to wave him off. "These women don't hold back," Kyle said in a low voice. "They kick and punch hard." Kyle put a red one on and pulled it up his legs, belting it tight with Velcro. Grissom reluctantly put his on also, and a then a padded boxing helmet and mouth guard.

The students lined up in 3 rows and began a series of punches and kicks while chanting, "Ich, nee, san, shee…" They stopped, put their palms together and bowed when Kyle turned to face them. He bowed back.

"Remember, technique over strength. If you try to outmuscle a man you will be overpowered quickly. And we don't want that." There was a murmur of agreement.

"Sandra! Grissom will grab you from the front. Position eight. Ready?"

Sandra, a tough looking woman in her forties, faced off with Grissom. He reached forward with both arms. In a twinkling his elbow was bent backwards and his fingers crushed, and he was pushed to one knee, or his elbow would've snapped. She brought a knee up hard to the side of his head and he grunted in pain.

"Very good, Sandra." She released him and he fell to his hands and knees, then struggled to his feet. "Let's do it again in slow motion. She's using his momentum…" Kyle explained as Sandra pulled his right arm to her right hip…"and controlling his strength by exploiting the weakness of the elbow and fingers." She did it again, and despite knowing what was to happen, Grissom was again driven to his knees.

"Marcie. Grissom will try to grab your wrist. Technique four. Ready?"

Grissom made a grab for the slender woman's left arm. His wrist was encircled, a shoulder shoved into his armpit, his feet swept out from under him, and suddenly he was flipped in the air and landed heavily on his back. There was a smattering of laughter. Grissom got to his feet, red in the face, breathing hard and feeling more than a little foolish.

Again and again different women faced him and he was flipped, kicked, elbowed, punched and driven to his knees.

"Sara." The CSI in question approached and they faced off. He eyed her condescendingly and she looked back into his eyes, with a determined, serious expression. She had cringed as her man was being hurt, but knew from bitter experience how important these classes were. Grissom had belittled her abilities to defend herself just last year, as they worked a serial rapist case, and Sara wanted to prove herself.

"Grissom is going to grab you around the neck from behind and attempt a choke hold." They exchanged a sharp look. Slowly she turned her back.

Grissom stepped forward until his body was flush with hers and put his forearm across her throat. Both felt an intense awareness of their bodies tight together from knees to neck. He tightened his hold as Sara locked her chin down, poking his muscular arm with her sharp chin and grabbing his arm. Sara then stepped to the side, swept her arm straight back, and punched him in the groin with her fist. As Grissom reflexively bent forward, Sara's bony elbow smacked him in the face. His nose stung and his eyes watered.

"Good. Good job Sara." Kyle stepped forward. "It's important to keep your chin down. If he gets around your windpipe you can pass out fast. I'm going to move you through the motions so everyone can see."

Grissom again put her in a choke hold. Their embrace seemed to last a long time. Kyle moved her foot so she was straddling Grissom's knee while standing tall, then swung her arm back and held her fist to Grissom's groin with one hand. He was explaining something but Grissom could only hear a buzzing in his ears and a rush of blood to the area in question. He was grateful for the concealment of the padded shorts but they constricted his swelling cock painfully. Sara's fist trembled and her face turned red, also very aware of this contact.

Kyle explained different variations, stomping on the instep, elbow to the throat, peeling Gil's fingers backward painfully, turning his wrist as if to break it, kicking backward at the knee. Throughout the explanation Grissom held Sara's slender body molded against him, absorbing the blows and feeling like he deserved them.

At last they broke apart, both breathing heavily and shining with sweat.

To Be Continued.

SMUTLET EIGHT

CHAPTER TWO

Grissom held Sara's body to his. His left arm circled her neck and his right hand sensuously explored her body. She did not resist. She participated. Sara arched her back and thrust her full breast into his palm. With one hand she felt his hip and thigh. With the other she reached behind her head and tugged on his hair, sucking in a breath when his lips explored her naked neck and jaw. Licking and sucking. Sara grabbed his hand and sucked his finger into her mouth as he ground his pelvis and erection against her tight, pert buttocks. When Gil's thick finger was good and wet she thrust his hand under her waistband and between her legs to where her body ached and burned for his touch. Eagerly he parted her folds and wet his hand in her juicy heat. Sara writhed and covered his hand with hers on top of her shorts, guiding and teaching him the rhythm she craved. "Harder," she panted, "right there, oh, Gil, harder," and he pressed roughly, rubbing her clit tighter and tighter until she stiffened and groaned and went slack with a satisfied whimper.

Grissom's cock was hard and throbbing and the desire to fuck was overwhelming. He shoved down his sweatpants and then her shorts and they kicked them away. Bending her forward until her hands touched the mat he pushed her legs apart with his foot and sank hilt deep into her in one hot wet stroke, nearly howling with the pleasure of it. She moaned his name loudly and cursed incoherently, pushing her ass back against him. Sara's head bobbed and her chestnut hair swept the blue padding as he stroked deep in her. Sara looked behind and up at him with a wicked grin. He could feel his orgasm building, building…Grissom's cell phone trilled and he awoke, thrashing and hard and horny as hell.

"Fuck. Fuck, that was…" Letting the phone go to voice mail he stumbled to the shower. Grissom grabbed a bottle of lube and hurriedly slicked his hand and cock. Immersing himself in the images of his vivid sex dream he stroked himself and quickly climaxed. Trembling with the force of it he turned on the shower and washed the sweat from his naked body.

The phone call was a call out to a dead hockey player, his neck slashed by a skate in a violent collision in front of the goal. Sitting in the stands with Sara, all alone but huddled close together on the bench, Grissom felt his heart warm at her nearness and empathy for the frustration in her voice. Grissom worked a rare compliment into their conversation. He was secretly proud of himself to see her dumbfounded expression when he told her he didn't know beauty before they'd met. They flirted and teased throughout the case and it was as if they had worked past the strain of recent months.

The classes continued, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Both CSIs did their best to attend all of them, given their hectic schedules. Grissom both dreaded and looked forward to his participation and the bruises and aching, stinging joints that followed. After one particularly vigorous match he sported a black eye, a bloody nose, and a nearly dislocated index finger. He only missed one class, and Sara let out her frustrations in a vigorous session, kicking and hitting harder than usual.

Gil resumed his neglected workouts to lose the spare tire around his waist; he skipped rope and hit a speed bag to better his timing and coordination, and he swam laps and soaked in the Jacuzzi at his gym.

Grissom's respect for Sara grew exponentially as he watched her confidence and abilities grow. She was quick, graceful, and precise, using her height and long arms to her advantage and striking with accuracy if not a lot of force.

In self defense class he could touch her, hold her, grasp her by the waist, the hands, the hips...and that was the fuel for fantasies. He even "innocently" copped a feel and got a blow to the solar plexus that left him gasping for air as a consequence. Gradually, he learned the dimensions of her body, the heft and size of her breasts, the texture of her skin. Thus she invaded his dreams and left him sexually frustrated. Even more than usual.

Sara worked out too. Jogged, lifted weights, swam, did sit-ups and pushups and stretching and balancing exercises. Her body was constantly buzzing with need. To touch his body more, longer, without an audience and without clothing…it became a near-obsession. She learned the texture of his hands, the feel of his warm body pressed against hers, the definitions of his muscled arms and chest. Sara watched and felt the flexing of his legs and back and shoulders as they sparred and struggled. He never tried to hit or strike her. His goal was to immobilize and restrain, and that entailed a lot of bodily contact.

They showered at the police baths and felt refreshed and looked each over appreciatively afterwards, feeling and looking sexy. It seemed more logical to ride together to the PD and, being thirsty after their workouts, it was no big deal to stop at a juice bar and get a healthy drink on the way home. What they had just learned was a starting point in conversation too, and the pair felt at ease with each other again outside of work.

Sometimes there would be another man to spar with, and sometimes Kyle would spar with him and let Gil complete the defense techniques himself, and get kicked and flipped and restrained in return. After all he was paid to teach law enforcement, not humiliate them. He encouraged and praised when it warranted and Grissom's hostility waned.

After a few weeks the classes came to an end. The students that had stuck it out held a little graduation ceremony and were awarded certificates and a blue belt. When it was Grissom's turn he was surprised and touched to get a whooping round of applause and cheers. Kyle thanked him for being a good sport and he sat down again with a small smile as Sara grinned at him. There was a little party afterward and a lot of laughter.

Only two weeks later Grissom could feel himself getting soft and slow again. His days were empty without Sara's bright eyes and lithe toned body struggling with his. He missed her look of proud satisfaction when she brought him to the ground with a hard thump. He missed the contact. He missed her company. Grissom broached the subject in the parking lot at the end of shift. Sara quickly agreed to have a private sparring session the next day in the little used workout rooms at the rear of the Crime Lab Building.

They had fun. Without an instructor and an audience judging them, Grissom and Sara worked on techniques but sometimes just tussled playfully. Once, she didn't complete a judo flip correctly and he landed right on top of her and they both went "Oof!" He didn't get up right away as she was laughing and he liked the vibration of it against his chest. Sara swatted at him weakly, still laughing.

"Get..off…"

"No. I'm comfy." He shifted a little so that she was truly pinned, chuckling.

"Griss….omm."

"Sidle? Say the magic word."

"Puh..puh pleeze."

Grissom jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand and pulled her up too. He tugged so hard she landed flush against him and he circled her waist instinctively to keep them both from toppling over. They stood in each other's arms and the laughter turned into tension, crackling with sexual energy. Grissom looked deeply into her brown eyes. He gazed at her mouth, slightly open and panting softly. Sara stood perfectly still. Moments passed. Then Grissom's face changed and he put his mask back on and stepped away. Sara's face fell and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Grissom cleared his throat and avoided looking at her.

"I think that's, uh, enough for today." He left. Sara buried her face in a gym towel to conceal her disappointment.

The next session was more intense. Sara felt like she had something to get out of her system. He had hurt her, again. She got in some good shots, hitting harder than ever, until Grissom's head, stomach, knees and fingers stung with pain.

He lunged at her, sweat in his eyes, and she flipped him, but he grabbed her arm as he fell and pulled her down with him. They slid across the mat. Grissom landed face up. Sara landed with her legs straddling his chest and slid…until she was positioned, standing on her knees, with her crotch directly above his face. One knee was around his shoulder and their hands were entangled. Sara froze. Their eyes met. She couldn't get up without lowering her sex to his face. His eyes darkened. He inhaled deeply, released her arms, and slid his hands sensuously up the back of her thighs.

"You're aroused. I can smell it," he murmured throatily.

Sara's heart pounded. She wanted to tear his clothes off and have her way with him. She slid her hands slowly down his body, behind her, and stroked his half-hard erection. His hips jerked and thrust up at the sensation.

"So are you."

Gil turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh. Sara whimpered and felt her body throb with need. He turned his head and kissed the other thigh. Sara stroked and squeezed his cock. He inhaled again and caressed her ass.

Grissom flipped them over and she cradled his head between her legs.

There was a loud banging noise from next door and the ring of metal on metal. A janitor, whistling, banged closed the door adjoining and then rattled their doorknob. Grissom jerked away as if burned and Sara scuttled backwards and closed her legs. She let her head fall back and groaned with frustration.

"Anybody in there? I see a light," he called.

"Yeah…" Grissom's throat was tight and he tried again, "Yeah!" he yelled louder. "We're…we're uh, working out. Just getting ready to…go…"

"All righty, gotta lock up soon…" the janitor's voice faded.

Grissom thumped his face to the floor and lay still, willing his erection to subside. Sara jerkily got to her feet and gathered her things, then sat against the wall to put her shoes on. Grissom staggered to his feet.

"Sara." She studiously ignored him, untying and retying her shoelace.

"Sara." His voice was sterner. She looked up briefly and glared and then dropped her eyes. "This…" he waved between them, "this can't happen. I'm sorry."

Sara mumbled angrily to herself. He could make out a few words: sorry my ass…fucking… imagined…wanted me. Then she jumped to her feet and stalked away.

The awkwardness and strain returned to their relationship. There were no more sparring sessions. But when they felt their loneliest, they had only to remember. And one day, years later, they made new memories.

THE END