TITLE: Bawdy Bodies
AUTHOR: Anansay
SUMMARY: Mixed signals give rise to interesting… conversations.
RATING: R
SPOILERS: None. Nada. Zilch. Niet. Got it?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, so I started this Unbound challenge off rather… tamely. You see, with the others I sorta had a direction. A rather WIDE direction, but it was there anyway. This one—had NONE. And that is my entire explanation for the completely OC-ishness of this… thing.

Bawdy Bodies
by Ananay
September 28, 2004
"Just what do you think you're doing?"

The strident voice pierced through Grissom's private musings. It never failed; even at home he was completely open to any and all onslaughts to his delicate emotional self.

"Why hello Sara," he said into the mouthpiece, rearranging the covers to better suit a sitting position. The fact that Sara was calling him, never mind the new form of 'hello' she'd adopted, meant that sleep would be long in coming. "How nice to hear from you." He tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice, but he was sure it slipped through.

"Yeah, right, fine, whatever," she threw into the phone.

Grissom closed his eyes to ward off the impending pounding of his cranium, and was rewarded with a rather lascivious image of Sara pacing her apartment, phone held between ear and shoulder, hands gesticulating wildly in the air—and wearing nothing but a camisole and thongs.

Burgundy ones, of course.

"How dare you?"

"Sara, darling, what are you talking about?"

"You left."

Grissom let his eyes roll. "Yes. Shift ended. There was a certain bed calling my name. I listened."

"'You listened.' You dolt—that was my bed calling your name!"

"Your bed? Hmm, I was sure it was my much softer, more comfortable king size bed calling my name. Didn't you hear it? I was sure you heard it."

Her exasperated sigh came through loud and clear, to the point where Grissom could almost feel her breath against his ear. It excited him.

"Alright. You want to play games. Let's see how long it takes you to get over here." And then her voice lowered. "Do you want to know what I'm wearing?"

Grissom thought a moment, and remembered his image of her. "No," he said simply.

"You… don't?"

"Nope. I already know what you're wearing—burgundy camisole and a thong."

"How—never mind. I don't even own one."

"Yes, you do. You bought it two days ago."

"How—?" she sighed, louder and longer this time. "Never… mind. I don't even want to know."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Now get your butt over here, you big, husky—"

"Hm, actually," Grissom yawned loudly, "I'm kinda tired. I think I'll just go to bed. Goodnight, honey!" he said sweetly, and hung up.

Plumping the covers up around him, Grissom snuggled down into their downy warmth, closed his eyes, and waited.

The clock's numbers switched. And switched. Time moved on. He tossed. And turned. The blankets became too hot. Then he became too cold.

He was amazed. For two reasons. Firstly, that she hadn't arrived yet. And secondly, that he hadn't gone to her. He sat up in bed and stared at his rumpled clothes on the floor and actually contemplated going to her.

But he wouldn't. Of course not. That wasn't part of the deal.

He went to the bathroom, took a leak, scratched his balls, and thought. Normally it was his beard that he scratched, but when he was by himself, it was his balls. And he was definitely by himself. No other noises in his condominium. Not today. It was just too weird. Once again, for two reasons: that he'd lived alone for such a long time that the lack of noise shouldn't bother him at all; and two, that it had only taken him a grand total of two whole weeks to dread the silence of his hermetic home.

Just as he dropped himself in a slump onto his sofa, there was a very loud, very obvious knock on his door. It occurred to Grissom that it actually might be bill collectors come to take him away.

Still, he padded to the door wearing nothing but some boxers (the only time he wore boxers was at home) and thought wildly that seeing a mostly naked man might scare away the possible bill collectors.

It wasn't a bill collector.

It was a beige trench coat wrapped snuggly around the luscious body of one Sara Sidle, propped up rather lewdly on a pair of the most gaudiest stiletto heels Grissom had ever seen.

Of course, his eyes just had to mark a trail of lusting up and down her body.

"You came…?" he heard himself ask, lamely.

"Not yet. But let me inside and I just might. You too, for that matter." And she batted her eye lashes at him in a way that, instead of making him want to hurl, actually had the complete, opposite, and quite startling reaction of inciting a rather strong sense of animalistic lust. He wanted her.

"Come in," Grissom said, suddenly in quite the gentlemanly mood, maybe to offset Sara's obvious game of seduction.

Sara bowed her head elegantly and strode by Grissom, tossing her head flamboyantly and giggling—yes, giggling. "Funny, I was thinking of saying the same to you… sometime today." She winked at him.

Grissom swallowed, and followed her.

With a crooked finger, she led him to his bedroom and sprawled on the bed, leaning back to rest on her elbows. She pulled one strap of the belt loose and the coat slowly slid off her, exposing her delicately clad body, dressed in—yep!—a burgundy coloured camisole. She shrugged her body and more of her was exposed, including the burgundy thong.

Grissom groaned, looking almost pained, and never taking his eyes off her as she slowly lay back on his bed, one leg bent up on the bed, and then falling over.

With a strange, almost garbled sound, Grissom practically launched himself on top of her, covering her with his body, and her lips with his mouth.

Hours later, both sated and their bodies limp, and sticky with drying sweat, they regarded each other with bemused grins. And, reminiscent of their supposed mind meld, they said in unison, "Okay, that was just weird."

THE END