Christmas Needs Love to be Christmas
(with thanks to Andy Williams for the title! We own nothing, just enjoy playing with CSI characters! )
Chapter 1: The Christmas Tree is Decorated
Sara did not have to open her eyes as she rolled over; her nose flashed a message to her olfactory bulb which quickly filtered and enhanced the familiar smell nearest her—translated as a scent very nearly "fresh air" but actually attached to a human body. Even as her arm stretched across the bed and her hand found the source of that fragrance, other functions of her brain were involved in arousing her other senses.
Her ears picked up the quiet flip of paper as a book was closed. A hand and fingers, a bit more calloused than when he worked in the lab, covered hers as fingers entwined.
She opened her eyes to a special, endearing view of her husband fumbling with his reading glasses; she mumbled "What time is it?"
"Nearly five," he answered as he turned to face her, bringing her fingers to his lips.
"I'll need to go in by eight." She snuggled closer. "Hank?"
"Taken care of."
She felt lips press against her hair. And, while her husband felt immensely warm and comfortable, Sara suddenly wiggled away.
Not only had her nose smelled fresh air, she had also sensed the minty aroma of recently brushed teeth.
"Be right back," she said, leaving the warm covers and his arms.
Quickly, she scampered into the bathroom, closed the door, brushed her teeth, and shed her sleeping pants. Several days before she had secreted a small shopping bag behind a stack of towels for just such an occasion. She rummaged inside and withdrew a pair of scarlet lace panties. A few seconds later, glancing in the mirror, she smiled at her reflection.
She knew she did not need to wear anything at all to get or receive Gil Grissom's attention, but she enjoyed his delight at the unexpected. Giggling, she opened the bathroom door, letting the light silhouette her body as she stretched, slowly turning from side to side.
She heard a sound—a deep, human growl, before her husband said, "Get over here before I explode!"
"Merry Christmas—a few days early!" With several long leaps, she was bouncing on the bed, jumping on her knees as she straddled his thighs. She touched a small bell-shaped appliqué on the red panties and a familiar song about a reindeer began to play. Sara sang along with her own words.
"Gilbert, the great bug scientist, has a very large penis and whenever I get near him, it grows and glows…"
Another growl emanated from her husband. "Where?"
Sara giggled and pressed the bell again. In addition to replaying the song, a small red light flashed between her legs. "Merry Christmas, Gil!"
His hands were already around her hips, pushing the fabric below her butt.
"Wait!" Sara's fingers covered his and moved them along the thin elastic. "Magic!" Fingertips pulled and the panties came apart at the hip. "No more pulling off, just a rip of the Velcro!"
Grissom laughed, grabbed the red panties and tossed them to the floor. "Hand-wash, I think."
Sara laughed. "Or one time use!" She pulled her shirt over her head.
His hands returned to her body; grasping her hips he placed her so her soft center nested against his penis. When she wiggled her hips, he stopped her.
"Let me play," he whispered, causing her to smile. His hand cupped her sex, fingers threaded through her tight curls until he found the soft damp center of her womanhood. Gently, yet certain of what he sought, his fingers caressed and massaged her velvety tissue until he felt tremors against his palm.
While his fingers played, Sara had folded her hands around his erection, stroking, squeezing gently from base to head, dipping warm fingers deep into his bird's nest of dark hair.
He whispered, "Open your eyes, honey."
Slipping two fingers inside her, he pressed against the velvet softness inside her body, arousing feelings of intense pleasure. She responded by opening her eyes, so dilated they appeared as shining black jet. Her hips lifted, her back arched. She loosened her hands; quickly, he shifted. His erection touched her intimate folds just as she lifted her hips giving him access to her opening.
Quickly, his hips lifted and he was inside the warm, pulsing center of feminine passion. Somehow, as lovers do so easily, he rolled as she folded over his chest. Each mouth found the other. Hands touched, fingers locked. His chest felt the firm mounds and erect nipples of her breasts.
"Sara," he mumbled as he plunged deeply.
Slowly, rhythm built. He plunged; her tight muscles drew him in. His one complete thought was of how he could not live without this woman. The feminine scent, the intimate feel of her body pulled him into a passionate embrace. He was conscious of powerful movements within his own body as his wife's climax reached its crescendo. He was the one who cried out as rippling waves turned into a roaring tsunami. Consciousness returned when he felt Sara's lips kissing his face, her legs wrapped tightly around his. A soft melodious tune came to his ears and he realized she was humming the same song about the reindeer.
He chuckled, "Do we get to see those again?"
Long slender fingers caressed his face; by the touch of her mouth against his, he knew she smiled. "You can't get all your gifts at once, you know."
"There's more?" The lilt in his voice caused Sara to laugh.
"I'm not telling, but you can wish," she said with a giggle.
Several minutes passed in silence, yet neither moved from the tight cocoon they had made. Grissom heard the restful sighs of her breathing. His arms wrapped around her so his thumb could caress her breast as it lifted from her chest. He kissed her chin—the part of her nearest his lips.
"This spot," he patted his thumb against her breast, "is my private space. No one else gets near it."
Sara's giggle was soft, mellow to his ear. "There are a lot of those private spaces you've claimed, dear Gilbert." Her legs tightened around his, her arms circled his head as she pulled him into the curve of her neck and shoulder.
"I hate to leave you," she whispered.
He responded with another kiss, saying "I'll bring lunch for you and Greg."
"Your mom is okay about Christmas day?"
"She is—actually thrilled to have her family with her—including Laura and Greg." Grissom rearranged himself so his head rested on his hand. "Ever since I returned from Peru, she's been big on this 'family' idea."
Sara made a sound between a groan and a laugh.
"What did you tell her?" His hand lay on her abdomen and he pressed one finger against her rib. "Confess."
Sara grimaced.
"Sara."
"I know what I said—it was after the murder at the college—after your mom said how much Julia meant to her and Julia was all in my face—with Jim sitting right there—about having an intimate relationship with you!"
"I told you…"
"That was later. I had already blurted out to your mother that we were a family—or something like that. And I think she decided—you know—the family part."
Grissom touched her face, gently tracing a line across her brow, down her nose to her lips. "Yeah, she probably did." Tenderly, he tilted her chin so her lips met his, kissing her teasingly with touches of his tongue; she reciprocitated, dancing back and forth as each felt the passage of an emotional message. Their hands searched and tightened as they held each other until a peaceful feeling cloaked and covered both.
The subject of family was one they had talked about for hours—in Costa Rica, in Paris, in Vegas, even in Peru when Sara visited him for several weeks—before finally acknowledging the likelihood of children in the usual method diminished with each passing month. Tentatively, they inquired about adoption—running into roadblock after roadblock—until, almost simply, one of the social workers they had known for years, suggested the easiest way to start a family.
"Mom thinks I'm going to make a great Santa," Grissom said, playfully raking his stubbly beard against Sara's cheek causing her to laugh. "It's too bad I have to wear a fake beard." The request for Santa had been made the week before and even his beard would not grow long enough to be appropriate for Santa.
Sara's hand cradled his face. "Greg's got you covered—swears it will look like the real thing."
"I really need a Santa's helper—one of those long-legged girls in tights and a short skirt." His laugh resonated against her skin in a way that caused goose bumps along her arms.
"Not likely," Sara laughed. "This Santa's helper will wear jeans and a red shirt!"
Grissom untangled arms and legs and stretched to reach the panties he had tossed to the floor. Holding them up, he said "I'd pay to see you wear these to the lab—under your clothes, of course!"
Sara gave him a sharp jab with her elbow before laughing. "Only for you, dear. Not for others." Her eyes rolled. "I'd never live it down, but it would be funny—Rudolf playing every time I bent over!"
He crawled underneath covers again and for a while, they talked about work, about the house, about their mothers and food and gifts and last minute errands.
For the Christmas holidays Sara and Greg were the only ones working the night shift with the new supervisor. Catherine had taken two weeks of vacation to fly to a warm island. Morgan was scheduled to work, but at the last minute, she managed to arrange a quick trip to see her mother which included Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Nick, with Sara and Greg encouraging him, flew to Texas. His father had died in August and they convinced him it was important to celebrate the holidays with his mother and sisters.
Later, Sara kissed her husband and wished for a quiet night.
"Sometimes it is," Grissom added to her wish. "Holidays in Vegas are different and Christmas even more so. Call me about lunch—I'll bring enough for everyone."
And the night before Christmas Eve worked out to be more usual than not. A man found dead in his house had died from a massive stroke—the adult children who came once a year would spend Christmas planning a funeral. Two homeless men died after ingesting a massive quantity of cheap whiskey; Sara and Greg finished the shift searching for relatives of the two men.
Keeping his promise to bring food, Grissom arrived with enough sandwiches and cookies to feed everyone in the lab. And while work did not completely stop, no one counted the minutes of lunch time or how many people were hanging around the break room at any one time.
As Grissom left, Greg said, "I'll be at your house by three o'clock for Santa dress-up!"
"I can stick the beard on without your help, Greg."
Greg grinned. "I know you can—but I need to help—want to help. We need to look good."
Grissom chuckled. He was almost afraid to ask what "looking good" meant to Greg. But he agreed to accept Greg's help.
A/N: Thank for reading. Let us know if you enjoyed the first chapter. This one is a short story-completed before Christmas as our 'gift' to our readers!