A/N - Wanted to write a Sandle fic that's less than 800 words and this was the result. I've been kind of emotionally/creatively constipated at the moment so I'm actually surprised this ff even happened. Anyway, here you go and remember to review after reading. Thanks.
Disclaimer - I don't own Greg Sanders, Sara Sidle, or CSI no matter how much I regularly dream that I do.
Sara Sidle stared up into the burning Nevada sun-rays as she silently moaned in annoyance. Despite being used to the constant sunshine and heat that was commonplace in Nevada, the last thing she wanted after another exhausting day at the lab was sunburn on her face, arms, and legs. Everything was too much; Sara needed some alone time.
Her house keys couldn't open the door fast enough and as the door swung open to reveal the dark expanse of hallway that was irresistibly beckoning out to her heated flesh. Sara crossed the threshold with a sigh as her body leaned back against the cool wooden surface of the door. Brown eyes closed as her hands clenched shut. Lukewarm sweat dribbled down in a rapidly cooling trail as her back dropped toward the linoleum tiled floor.
For the first time in several hours, she had time to think about nothing at all. Working around death and despair hardly held the same appeal when he wasn't there. He had claimed that he couldn't stay with her because of some miserable forensic conference he apparently "had to go to". The air conditioning wafted through her sweat clogged pores as Sara remembered how much of an idiot she must have seemed when she used every bit of intelligence in her body to beg him to stay with her. However, it hardly mattered. He refused to listen to her pleas and packed his bags anyway.
"Fuck me," Sara repeated in a mantra of frustration with each pounding beat of her head against the door. Never had she missed a single man as much as she did in the moment, but her frustration did nothing to dissipate the uncontrollable need for all things him running through her veins.
Her messenger bag lay forgotten somewhere in the abyss of her cool hallway and she could care less. It wasn't fair for a man to make another woman feel so absolutely dependent.
Just as she began to understand the emotional state of a suicidal young woman with her own firsthand experience of pain and misfortune, it happened, he happened. His boyish chuckle entered her ear before she had a chance to look up into the playful eyes framed by the same dirty blonde locks that Sara loved running her fingers through.
Sara's back now rested upon his knees as he smiled down at her gaping mouth. "Looks like it was a good thing I decided to come back. We all know how you get when you want sex and it's never pretty."
"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sara spat back at him as she stood up to drag him inside the quickly warming hallway before closing the door behind him.
"And you missed me," he stated simply before sweeping his multicolored locks out of his eyes, "so now that we've got the name-calling out of the way, are the two of us going to stand in your hallway all day?"
A small smirk painted her features before Sara pushed his lanky figure the remaining couple of feet into her kitchen. Everything was better now that he was back. Never had Sara thought she would become one of those needy women in a relationship, but there was a first time for everything she supposed.