Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know. :(
Sara had her mind on meeting in Grissom's office at the end of the shift when she pulled out of her lab coat, reaching for the brown one, ready to be done for the night. The hook she placed it on was in the back left corner of the lab room they'd been in, and Nicky was beside her, removing his.
"Hey, what happened, you get dragged down a driveway or something?" His voice was teasing, but the question was serious—a finger touched one of the scrapes on her back and she winced.
"Fell in the shower… my back caught me." She frantically pulled the brown jacket over herself and rushed towards the door. Nick called after her.
"Sara… don't you need your purse and keys from your locker…?"
She cursed, under her breath, thoroughly flustered, and made her way back, past his smirk, and into the locker room. She pulled the purse roughly from the locker and slammed it, walking out past Warrick—which reminded her that she said she'd meet Grissom. She swore again, turning on her heel and marching down the hall. Greg had now joined Nick and they stood their laughing at her continual changes in direction, but with questions in their eyes. They weren't investigators for nothing.
She almost walked into Grissom's office without knocking, catching herself with her hand on the doorknob, and then pulling back and knocking. The door swung slightly open at her pressure. He looked up, surprised, but the smile that graced his lips was more than sincere. "Sara…" He said her name with a breathless quality that immediately got her heart racing, and she closed the door behind her after a moment of hesitation.
She sat down, and they looked at each other without speaking. Sara was waiting to hear what he hadn't said in the lab—Grissom was struggling for words. After at least a minute of silence, Grissom sighed. "Sara, I just… don't know what to do here. I'm so… so torn. And I know that… that it really isn't fair to you to tell you this and confide my indecision in you. I'm sorry. Maybe… I'll just…"
But Sara was leaning forward in her chair, drawn to the intensity of his gaze, and already looking for an excuse to bring him home with her today. She didn't need commitment—she just needed his quiet and simple affection. She needed the soft kisses and the caressing hands and the impish grin that hinted of good things to come… "Grissom… you don't have to make any decisions right now. You… figure out where you are. And, in the meantime, don't worry about the consequences." His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
"Sara…"
She laughed off-handedly, though it was insincere. "Grissom—You keep trying to deny my offers because they don't sit right with you… but they do sit right with me, and we both know you're going to give in to me again eventually so… Why don't you come have breakfast at my place? Or…cheesecake and coffee maybe."
Sara was unlocking her multiple locks not twenty minutes later, Grissom beside her. They had driven separately, even leaving a few minutes shy of each other, but he was right on her heels as she entered the elevator. Once inside, she relocked the door and lined her shoes up like usual, Grissom following suit again. This made her smile. He wouldn't allow her to cook, instead making himself at home in her kitchen and fixing them each a small stack of pancakes—he would have loved bacon or sausage with them, but he knew better than to check for such things in Sara's home. They ate, discussing not their cases, but the day they'd spent apart, before work.
Grissom had said he didn't know how long she was going to sleep, and had wanted a fresh set of clothes. He slept some more, after a shower, and then made lunch and took Hank for a walk. Sarah just said that she ate and did some housework. Grissom smiled, knowingly, unaware that he did not truly know the extent of Sara's desire for order in her home. When they'd finished eating, Sara loaded the plates and frying pan into the dishwasher and, seeing that it was at least three quarters full, decided to start a load. Once finished, she wiped down all the surfaces in the kitchen again, and brought the washcloth directly to her washer. Smiling, she slowly took off the brown jacket and tossed it into the washer, to be quickly followed by her socks, tank top, and jeans.
Grissom had watched her in this pursuit—the laundry being behind two closet doors at the very front of her hallway—and now grinned and moved over to her. He had been right—at work her undergarments were more practical—the job always came first for her. This did not mean that they were not sexy, however. The bottoms were a form-fitting boy bottom cut, black and, upon further examination, silky to the touch. The bra was cream, with pink and red polka dots. His hands immediately found her waist, pulling her close. She caught his bottom lip in her mouth and pulled him closer, so she could kiss him without standing on her tippy toes, and then began to undress him as quickly as she had undressed herself.
Grissom, being the man he was, could not surrender without some protest. "Sara… are you sure about this? I mean, I don't want you to feel—"
"Good?" She interrupted. "'Cause that's the only thing you're preventing right now…"
And then his pants were about his ankles, his chest was bare, and he didn't even know how it had happened. He stepped out, removing his socks at the same time, and was surprised when Sara bent and picked the clothes up. "May I?" She asked, before tipping them into the washing machine and starting the load. His eyebrows mashed together his eyes were so narrowed, but she simply smiled, taking his hand and pulling him back into her bedroom. He was met with another surprise here. The bed was different.
She moved forward, pulling back the brown comforter and then seating herself in the space it left, leaning back on her elbows and watching him, waiting for his reaction. Although very much interested in devouring every inch of that newly exposed skin, he also felt…strange. Like he needed to know why the sheets had been changed. Like she hadn't wanted to sleep in the bed they'd made love in… She sat up, seeing his hesitation, and glanced behind her at the bed. She didn't want to explain to him why she'd changed the sheets…she didn't want him to know how she constantly wondered what things she left behind would be discovered if she died and her work family had to come sift through it.
She swallowed hard. "Griss…" she sighed. "You… you saw how I am with cleaning. The counters… the dishwasher wasn't full… a load of laundry for two shirts and two pairs of pants? It wasn't… I didn't…"
He watched her—she wasn't lying, but he felt like he wasn't getting the whole story either…like there were multiple reasons and she was telling him the mildest one. But she looked so sad… scared of his rejection. He moved forward, ducking his head down so he could capture her lips and reassure her, a hand resting on either side of her hips on the bed. She kissed him back desperately—her relief was so honest—so desperately thankful—that he found himself lifting her body to meet his and scooting her back on the bed only moments after their lips had connected. And suddenly, their mutual need was so all-encompassing that they could not stand to make each other wait. He entered her and pushed her as quickly toward her peak as he could, going over the edge the minute he felt her do the same. They lay panting in bed and, having worked all night beforehand, slipped quickly into a dreamless sleep.
This time, when she woke, he lay in bed holding her. She kept her eyes closed, afraid to break the spell of the moment, but she must have signaled her consciousness in some way, because she felt his lips on her forehead, his beard tickling her nose, and he murmured against her skin. "Good Morning."
She let her eyes flutter open and looked up at him—his eyes were bright and beautiful, and he looked happy to be in bed with her. She smiled and hugged herself closer to him. "…morning. What time is it?"
"A little after noon. You can go back to sleep, if you want, honey." His voice was tender and delicate, and she felt each lovingly-delivered word deep in her bones.
She shook her head. "No, I wanna be awake with you… unless, you need to go? You don't have to stay…"
He chuckled at the look on her face. "Relax, Sara. I want to stay."
She smiled and snuggled into his chest again, realizing with minor surprise that they were both still naked, and not having sex, but that it seemed comfortable and normal. That filled her up with hope, and she felt that if she could just feel this way forever, all her demons would dissipate. Who could be troubled when they were so thoroughly content? She stretched then with a groan.
"God, I'm sore. Are you this sore?"
He snickered softly. "Probably more than you… you have an old man in your bed."
Though he was teasing, she sensed that this was an insecurity—not that he had said it to hear her argue, he was not so needy—it was more like it had slipped out, because he'd been worrying. She stretched up to him, to plant a kiss firmly on his lips.
"No, I don't. I have an amazing lover in my bed."
He half-smiled, appreciating the thought, but not the pity he assumed was behind it. She glared at him. "Gil, really. I don't… I don't think of us as being fifteen years apart. When I think of you…" She blushed, and struggled to maintain eye contact, but she continued. "I think of a man who is my equal—he is not older, he is not more powerful, he is not more or less intelligent. I think of the man who I have desired since I met him—a man who showed me recently that I had not really had an orgasm in my entire life …a man I respect, and care for, and admire for every part of who he is."
He was smiling, touched, and pulled her in close for another kiss on the lips. "Thank you, Sara."
She smiled. "I didn't say it to stroke your ego, I said it because it's true."
There was a moment where they just laid there, held close, but then he leaned his head back, to look at her face. "What do you mean, hadn't really had an orgasm?"
She blushed and looked down. "Well, I mean… I had, but…" her eyes found his, and they were darker with the memory, her cheeks flushed. "…not like… that."
He lifted a hand to rest against the side of her head, his thumb stroking her hot cheeks. "Like…what? What did I do… differently?"
She smiled wryly, but leaned her face into his hand anyway. "You just… I dunno… everything about you, the way you touch me… is perfect. Maybe it's just that I'd wanted this for so long… or because I didn't feel like I had to worry what I wasn't hiding when I was lost in the moment… but… with everyone else I've been with… there are moments when it's okay… not horrible, but not necessarily good either… but eventually you get back into a rhythm and it starts to feel really good again. With you, there was never any lull… just a constant building and burning across my skin, from the moment you touched me…"
Her cheeks flamed again as she realized what she'd been saying—she'd been speaking without thinking, almost losing track of her place and time in her own train of thought…but now she was painfully aware, and turned her face from his, embarrassed. He still had his hand to her face, however, and turned it back to him.
"Don't be embarrassed, honey. It was that way for me too…"
She gave him the same smile he had given her a moment before—appreciating his words, but not believing them. He groaned and pulled her into another quick kiss.
"Sara, really… I'm not just… being nice, or whatever that face means you think I'm doing. No one has ever done the things to my body that you have… I understand what you meant, by not having really had an orgasm. Of course I have but… compared to what you did to me, Sara Sidle, it feels like I hadn't."
She giggled softly, laying soft kisses against his chest. She looked up at him strangely, as if she wanted to speak, but then turned away, resting her head against him again. He chuckled. "You know you're not going to get away with that. What were you going to say?"
She shook her head, her cheeks flushing brightly. He nudged her. "I'm too embarrassed, Gil."
"…I promise that I'll tell you something too. An I-owe-you for if I ever try to hide something…"
She looked up at him, and then smiled softly. "Okay… I was… I was going to ask if the… orgasm thing… if that were true for Lady Heather too…"
His eyebrows narrowed. "How did you…?"
She shrugged awkwardly, tearing her eyes from his. "Gossip around the lab. I try to avoid it, most times, but… well, when it's you…"
He stretched and relaxed his jaw, and then closed his eyes at the inevitability. "Yes, it was more than what I've ever experienced, including my night with Heather."
Her eyes sought his, seeking out deception hidden there. "Are you sure? You don't have to say that…"
He shook his head. "I know. I'm not just saying it, Sara."
She smiled, then, curling her body up to his and yawning. She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but she was happy, in this moment, to let the topic die.
