Secrets of the Not So Dead
TEASER: Do we ever know people as well as we think we do? Response to the 6-27-05 Unbound Improv Challenge.
RATING: M for sexual situations.
SPOILERS: Through Season 5.
DISCLAIMERS: I'd much rather live in the world where not only are they mine, but I also have the wealth to prove it and keep it that way. Either that or in their world and have any of the main men. Maybe not so much Greg. Hmm . . .
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and Happy Fourth of July to one and all, especially anyone serving our country or with loved ones serving. First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, I made it with 8 words to spare.
CSI CSI CSI
"Are you reading a romance novel?" he asked with surprise in his voice.
Grissom was so engrossed in The Shop on Blossom Street that he had to look up to see who had spoken. "Just browsing to see if my mother would enjoy it," he lied, hoping that Greg's detection skills had not yet reached the level of Warrick's or Nick's, let alone Catherine's or Sara's.
"Oh." Greg cocked his head and shuffled his feet for a moment before he spoke again. "Is it a bodice ripper?"
"Greg! It's for my mother." He was pleased to see Greg flush in embarrassment. "It's a sweet story about four women who make friends of a sort. I think she'll enjoy it." He was certainly counting the seconds until he could get back to the knitting lessons and the upcoming makeover shopping trip. His infrequent indulgence in such drivel was a guilty pleasure he had learned from his mother, although he really had picked up this particular book for his mother. He actually rather liked the bodice rippers for the sheer absurdity of them.
"I, um, wanted to tell you to have a good vacation, Grissom. Thanks for making me take two weeks. I really needed them."
He nodded. "We all do after this past year. Don't do anything to Sara that you wouldn't do to me this next week. She deserves a quite week." He didn't want to waste the two weeks they would have together debriefing her. He wanted her to "debrief" him at least three times a day, but not about work.
"You got it. Sara should be back in an hour."
"Thanks, Greg. See you in three weeks."
Grissom had nearly finished the book by the time Sara knocked on the door frame an hour and ten minutes later.
"Remind me to tell you no next time you send me out to a DB in a fish market. I don't think I will ever eat fish again."
He grimaced and motioned her to sit. "I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't even think about it. I'm slowly taking away everything you like to eat."
She smiled, showing him the gap in her teeth that so fascinated him, especially when they kissed. "I still eat lobster. You promised, Grissom."
Had they been at one of their apartments, she would have called him "Gil." He smiled at the thought. "I did. You going to be okay here?"
"Here? Sure. It's when I'm not here that I won't be so good."
"Well, I won't be so great until you join me." He pointed to the stack of papers on the desk in front of him, settling into supervisor mode to tell her everything she needed to do as shift supervisor in his absence.
CSI CSI CSI
His mother liked the book and thrilled to its new sequel even more. But she loved Sara most of all when she arrived at the end of his first week of vacation, doting on her as though she'd found a long-lost daughter. Grissom worried a little when the two disappeared for an afternoon with a brand new American Express card he had gotten to share with Sara, fearing that the card would be well-worn when they returned, bags in hand full of girly things neither of them would wear more than once or twice a year.
He was wrong. They came back with bags full not of Victoria's Secret and Gucci but of Brooks Brothers, Prada, and Giorgio Armani. He had hopes for the La Perla bag in Sara's hands, but as with the others, it contained things for him.
He humored the most important women in his life with a fashion show, which pleased them and made him realize that the two of them had managed the impossible: he liked everything they picked.
He didn't know until he and Sara went to San Francisco that she had indeed shopped at La Perla for herself. And Versace. And Frederick's of Hollywood.
After Nick's ordeal, he and Sara had managed a frank talk about their feelings for one another. He still wondered how two such intelligent people had been so dumb for so long about their deep, abiding love for each other, but because of their history of miscommunication, they had agreed to go slowly in their relationship. "Slowly" was relative and in this case, it meant that the night she wore the mesh bikini from Frederick's under her short, slinky dress was the first time they made love.
Sara was a magnificent lover. He imagined that her ability to make his body scream with desire came because she had been intended for him since the beginning of time. To think that her skills with her sensuous fingers, her velvet lips and tongue, and the powerful muscles of her womanhood might have developed with practice on other men hurt too much.
The next day, after she had "debriefed" him four times, he told her his private joke, which made her laugh in a deep, throaty way that left him panting with lust despite his physical exhaustion. He tackled her to the king size bed and, not ready for her ministrations, set about the detailed exploration of her body that had thus far eluded him.
He stroked every inch of her silky skin with his fingers and delighted in her pleasure. He kissed every finger, toe, arm, and leg, lavished her stomach and back, suckled her breasts, and felt her heat rise with each stroke of his tongue. At last, he feasted on treasure uniquely hers, watching as she climbed higher and higher toward the peak of ecstasy.
At the height of her rapture, she writhed so hard that she flipped off the bed, dragging him with her in a tangle of limbs and sheets. She laughed and apologized to him when she could talk.
He kissed her, hard, because he just couldn't find the words. It wasn't often you saw a body do that.
--Fin--