Disclaimer:All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition. BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…
The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'.
I also do not own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'
Author Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!
Stars in Motion.
By Rianne.
Chapter ten.
Sara had never heard of the band that was pounding away before her, couldn't even see them that well as the lights had been dimmed and the stage was haloed in flashing spots, but the music was loud and fun and her fingers began to unconsciously to tap in rhythm against the table.
She'd always had an instinct where music was concerned. Not that she had any kind of singing voice, nails on a chalk board more like, but she did have an inner rhythm that all at once danced to its own beat, and tended to seek comfort and security within the familiar rhythms of people she knew. She was often drawn to the inner music of others.
Grissom with his slow and steady, occasionally thoughtful and yet always controlled beat; the classical of course! Warrick with his lazy slow and sensual; the Jazz! Greg with his happy up-tempo rage; the clubber! Catherine with her constant fluctuations, high screaming down to low in milliseconds; the angry chick rock! Nick with his giddy twang and finger clicking tempo; always the country! All of them bringing their own combinations to the harmony of the team.
But herself… what kind of rhythm did she let other read from her. What did she bring to their unique symphony? As of late it must have been downbeat, low and sulky. Certainly not the excited, throw her hands in the air, spin around the room she was starting to feel again.
For a spark she remembered a faint, long lost flash of happy from her murky past. Her mother had left the radio on in their kitchen, she had been alone in the living room, a shy and lonely child reading her book, but the music had floated over to her, vibrant and enticing. She'd soldiered on, reading the same page and then the same sentences over and over trying to keep her attention grounded… funny, she couldn't remember the book she had been reading, or the song that had filled the room, but she could remember the rhythm. Remember the way that sunshine had shone in beams through the tattered old blinds and that the beams had danced with dust particles. She could remember finally giving in and throwing down her book and finding herself dancing, swirling circles in the air with her arms, her clothes trailing out through the air with the motion, her unruly straggly curls bouncing. She had been laughing, happy, abandoned and free, spinning whirling circles around the coffee table that stood in the middle of their sparse, beige room.
Then the slam came. Rattling the walls, stopping her in her tracks. Her father home from work. His presence in the house sending a crash of blackness over the sunshine.
The radio had been missing when she had crawled out from the relative safe of under her bed the next morning, after she was sure that the fighting had stopped. She'd found it smashed to pieces in the back yard a few days later… she hadn't danced again in that house. Not that they had lived there for much longer.
The band gloated through applause at the end of their first track and then roared to life again with their second. Her leg joined in with the new rhythm, this time, but she had forgotten her proximity to Grissom. The new friction was a sudden rush through her, she hadn't meant to do it but the motion rubbed her leg up and down against his. The beat was intoxicating, and having him so near was just as exhilarating, she couldn't stop once she started. She was fascinated by her body's reaction to it, to the new power she was feeling. And she was damned if she was ever going to hide being happy again.
She couldn't be sure, but the first time the back of his finger brushed against the inside of her wrist she thought she imagined it. By the time she looked across at him his hand was in his lap like before and he was watching the band with avid interest.
The second brush held more intent. She could have sworn that the corners of his lips turned up. The caress of the back of his finger, tracing the veins on the vulnerable inside of her wrist, before teasing up over the heel of her hand, a sensation which tickled its way up to making her fingers twitch on the table top.
Then he had withdrawn again. Reaching for his glass.
She blinked, staring hard at the band and the back and shoulders of her friends as they swayed in their seats.
No, she had, she'd imagined it. Twice. She must have. It was darker now. She must have been mistaken.
Yet, there it was again. His touch sliding up her arm, from the pulse beating faster at her wrist, up, up… tentative at first, lightly skimming, then growing more intense, teasing, tickling, stroking… the musical motion of her leg against his becoming more of a nervous tremble than a dance.
When his gentle touch was almost at her elbow, it glided back down again, his finger sliding over onto the top of her arm so that the pad of his fingertip traced over the light, highly sensitive hairs that dusted the skin, making them stand on end.
Then his touch was gone again. Slipping back into the darkness from whence it came.
Oh that was no conjuring thrill of her overactive imagination. His caress had teased goose bumps from her flesh. Proof. And they say that the evidence never lies…
She risked a sideways glance, keeping her head dipped, then sliding her gaze up slowly until she found him watching her intently, his expression shaded, but the fascination written across his face was crystal clear as their eyes met.
Oh no… this, this was real! This wasn't some idle daydream she had invented to pass the time, or fill some void in her social life.
His eyebrows raised just a touch in recognition, his irises glittering at her with amusement.
He said something, but the sound was lost to the music. Yet she heard him loud and clear.
He'd accused her of being a 'tease!'
With another smile he began to slowly tap his foot, reinitiating the friction that warmed their legs. To show her just what he though had warranted his accusation. The grin across his face was as charming as it was cheeky.
She couldn't believe he'd said that. How dare he!! How dare he suggest that after his whispered breathing in her ear before? If any one was a tease right now…!
He must be drunk… but his eyes were clear and creased with amusement and his touch was definitely sure and right on the money.
Oh boy… so this was what happened when you mixed Grissom with Whisky and threw in a little playtime... but heaven help her, she liked this experiment!
Her eyebrow raise mirrored his, yet hers was laced with mock confusion and her best attempt at innocence, her mouth forming an 'O' of indignation.
Playing with him was fun… If he wanted a battle of wills… he was going to get one…
There was no way he was allowed to know that this was affecting her so much.
She pursed her lips at him, eyes crinkling, as she turned away to hide her breaking smile by pretending to be watching the band again.
It was nice to know that her touch seemed to be having the same kind of effect on him as his was on her.
Then as soon as her attention was elsewhere the phantom touch returned. The movements of his fingertips started up again. Sliding up and over her funny bone to the especially sensitive flesh of her inner upper arm. Her front teeth made a ridge indention in her lower lip as she bit into it to restrain the groan that surprised her by rumbling up inside. His finger was scant millimetres from her breast. Just a nudge of that elbow and…
The more he moved, the lighter his touch and the more she desperately wanted to squirm against it, search it out, wiggle her hips against the seat beneath her, but that couldn't be.
There was no way she was letting him know just how ticklish she was. No way he was going to win this.
Her chest was rising and falling more obviously than before with the force of restraining her panting breathlessness as her body tried to betray her true responses, yet the volume and swell of the music were a ample disguise.
She meant to find some way in which to tease him in return, she really did, but her world was rapidly shrinking down to the single point where his tinglingly rough fingertip made contact with her bare flesh. She swore that she could feel each individual ridge in his fingerprint, each rise of it stirring something akin in her.
It was an unusual, but not all together unwelcome feeling. The lights on the band before her began to blur and spin as she began to relax and lull into the dreamlike sensation. The dark, and his heat, turning their little corner of the table into a sweet cocoon. Their own little world.
It was surreal, to feel that contact and know just who it came from, and know that it was risky, that their friends were seated just a few inches from them. And to know that despite all of that, Grissom, the man who had never been brave with his emotions in the entire time she had known him, was playing this game. Playing with fire.
Oh god, they shouldn't be doing this. But they'd have to set the room a blaze before she'd have the power to stop him right now.
This, this was the kind of thing that real couples did! This was the kind of naughty surreptitious playing and teasing, flirting, she'd craved from him, and she was damned if she was going to stop him now, even if he was acting under the super powers of some liquid courage!
Whilst her mind had started to wander his touch was back down at her wrist, exploring with an idle stroke. Then ever so slowly he slipped higher and higher, she could feel his gaze on her, sleepy and yet unwavering. She was glad the curtain of her hair hid her heated cheeks. He was trying to gauge her responses to him, but she was getting close to too far-gone to care and she just couldn't hold back the shiver that rumbled throughout her.
Had she ever been touched with such affectionate sensuality before?
No… not even in the bedroom.
How could she be so sensitive, react so much from so little? He was only touching her arm for goodness sake! It was the simplest, gentlest of explorations.
Yet warmth was filling her, gliding through her on the ebb and beat of the music. Pleasure was fast becoming something more. Fast becoming arousal.
Then he reached the crease of her elbow, and all thought left her. Her head tilted back on her shoulders, her mouth falling open and her eyes lulling closed at the sweetness.
And then he was gone.
She didn't even get chance to reach out to him, as the room around her span hindering her desperate search for focus. Her mind felt like it was weeks behind. Through the darkness and the flashing colours and the blur she finally saw that the others were moving around the table. Catherine was on her feet, wrapping her feather boa around Greg's neck as she used it as reins to drag him across the room to where a crowd had gathered on a makeshift dance floor.
Nick was standing too, encouraging Warrick to follow, and then body checking him out of the way when he declined before grasping a bleary-eyed, stunned Sara by the hand, before Grissom could do anything about it, and hauling her after Catherine and Greg.
The last two men remained at the table. Staring wordlessly in the direction of those who had just left them.
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Grissom could still feel the unbelievable softness of her skin against the tip of his finger. The residue tingle of the tickling caress.
For a minute it kept her next to him, kept the rhythm of the intimate thump of her pulse against his finger and the frictionful motion of her leg beating against his. But it quickly faded.
He'd only meant to tap her wrist, a gentle, subtle warning to make her aware of how the motion of her leg, bouncing against his, was… well it was hardly making him uncomfortable… but it was taunting his mind into conjuring some interesting and extremely creative daydreams, which would be fantasies come true for him, but more than uncomfortable for the rest of the bar if she provoked him any longer!
Yet, the first time he had touched her, her skin had been so downy soft, and she had looked so sweetly bemused by it, tilting her head towards him, so obviously missing his point, and he had used that as the flimsiest excuse ever to not resist his urge to touch her again.
It was a new feeling for him. Wanting and actually giving in to it. Being allowed to touch her, even though she had always seemed open to it, he had always been the one to hold back. Fool!!
And then one touch had just lead helplessly into another.
She was so soft there, he doubted there was any place on his own body as soft and that included the places the daylight never touched. She was so vulnerable. He had been able feel the pulse fluttering as it sped up under the tender flesh at her slender wrist, felt each shiver and then did his best to elicit more trembles from her.
Oh the way she had reacted…
She was tempting and dangerous, and he couldn't believe he had done that in such an exposed environment, or that she had let him, not with the others so close. Yet really when viewed out of context it was pretty innocent touching as far as touching went. Yet when considered in relation to them it was pretty huge.
She was so responsive he couldn't help but think of other ways to get her to react like that. Or think how things might be if this 'thing' between them were to get as serious as he'd like.
He certainly didn't need to worry any more about her level of attraction to him. Her reactions were proof irrefutable that she had been honest when she had treated him like a desirable man, not the grey sagging old man he sometimes didn't recognise when he looked in the mirror.
A tease down the top of her arm had elicited goose bumps and he couldn't help but grin with pride. That certainly tapped into something deep and masculine.
And then the triumph of sliding just the tip of his fingertip through the valley at her elbow. Her reaction to that had been overwhelmingly sensual, she'd arched back, her head rolling on her shoulders and her mouth had slid open, wet and inviting, her eyes heavily lulling closed. He'd definitely found an erogenous zone there.
He had never seen her look more alluring.
He'd wanted to kiss her again right there, to really taste that aching mouth, deep, slow and long. A real kiss, not like the tender peck they had shared after coffee. This kiss would have been forceful and heated, voyeurs be damned.
Then the others had been moving and he had been jerked sharply back to the present, had pulled his fingers back, and had dragged his eyes away from the sensual tableaux she made.
Catherine and Greg and Nick were on their feet, laughing and dancing away from the table.
And then Nick had grasped a tight hold of Sara's hand and then she had been gone. Dragged away after Catherine and Greg to the dance floor. Leaving only cold air and the whisper of her heat and a light breezing of her perfume behind.
He'd felt a little sorry for her, and also pretty smug, to see her stumble a little under Nick's grasp, her hair tangling in her face as he steadied her with a laugh.
Oh he had certainly affected her!
But if he had known there would be dancing, even dancing like this… he wanted to have been the one to ask her.
Not that he could dance to music like this without looking an idiot… or his age.
But the gentleman, and lets face it, the man, inside him felt his gut tighten as he watched her and Nick spin around the small dance floor, his four friends easy to pick out due to their crazy outfits amongst the expensively dressed younger crowd of dancers.
He knew without a doubt that Nick meant nothing with his affectionate hold beyond the friendly camaraderie that they had always shared. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Nick, along with Greg, had been very taken with Miss Sidle way back when he had first brought her in from San Francisco, almost as taken with her as he had been, but he had long been used to pretending to ignore the flirting that went on between the three younger CSI's. But now it was suddenly all the more acute.
Jealousy was a somewhat stupid emotion for a man of his age. It seemed a more suited tendency of a younger man, one who was a little green around the edges to begin with.
He didn't even really have permission to be jealous.
Oh! This new level of confusion where she was concerned was pretty unwelcome. He'd always been a man who was sure of himself at least, so clear and comfortable about what he wanted.
He sighed, picking up his whisky again, swirling the amber liquid around his glass.
Beside him he caught a companion sigh, as Warrick leaned back in the chair, dropping the plastic crown into the middle of the table as if he was giving up.
His proverbial white flag. His subtle conversation invite.
The entire length of Warrick's frame was tense and teenage sulky, Grissom sucked in his lips and then leaned closer to be heard.
"You okay?"
Warrick's non-committal shrug spoke volumes.
"Well… every nine years and thirty-four days…" Grissom tried with a smile.
Warrick's small smile of response softened the surprise in his face, a look of amazement that pulled at Grissom.
He'd surprised Warrick with his concern. That was a little insulting considering that he had been there for the cocky CSI all through the early, troublesome years, he had spent on his team after joining the Vegas Lab.
Just when had people started to view him as such an uncaring person? He thought he worked hard for the team, and stood behind them always, the silent support, but he had to admit that maybe Catherine would have a few complaints against that statement. And that maybe seen as being the silent supporter wasn't working all that well for them, that maybe he should try being more verbal.
"Catherine?" He asked Warrick.
The other man's nod was slight but clear.
"She'll get over it. I'll bet she's more upset about missing a wedding."
Warrick tried to smile at his Bosses attempt at humour and comfort.
Grissom had been peripherally aware of the interactions between Catherine and Warrick right from the first moment they had laid eyes on one another. Even with Eddie in the picture and Catherine a married woman her head had certainly been turned by the obviously attractive new recruit, and then they had gotten closer and locked intellect in a way that was pretty familiar, he had to admit, to the way that he and Sara had become intertwined. A glimpse of attraction heightened by the hungry intelligence and a shared passion for the thrill of the case.
"So how did you meet your wife?" Grissom put out there.
Warrick smiled at this curious, interested and personal questioning Grissom. He must be hammered! Was the thought that flashed through his mind, and come to think of it, he and Nick and Greg had certainly been draining their pints of beer at a rapid pace, but Grissom was on the rather heavier whisky…
"Met her at the hospital, she was the nurse who stitched me up when I had that… er accident with the window pane." He explained.
Grissom had to smile as he recalled the shattered window that he had sent to Warrick to have him reconstruct, only for a sliver to slice through his fingertip. It had been a case-breaking piece of evidence. The second time he had been given such an intensively mind-boggling task to perform.
"She said that I could either take her out for a drink, or she'd stitch her number into my finger!"
They shared a laugh at that!
So she was a nurse, and completely unprofessional by the sound of it!
Grissom could imagine a woman like that being good for Warrick! Or maybe a dangerous combination!
He hoped it worked out for them, he really did.
"So, you aren't a dancer then, Gris?" He joked.
Shaking his head Grissom turned his attention back to the dance floor to see that Nick now wore Sara's flowered garland about his neck and she was wearing his cowboy hat over her curls as she was laughing and spinning around in a circle on the spot.
There it was, that twinge again. Accompanied by the deep pull, he'd felt for as long as he could remember, the pull of the desire just to be close to her.
"I'll er… just be…" Grissom announced, placing his glass back on the table as he tilted his head in the direction of the men's room on the other side of the room.
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Sara had been dizzy as Nick had pulled her across the room. She'd been lucky to stand upright, as her knees were still trembling, despite the refreshing rush of cool air that bathed her now that she was away from the curl of Grissom.
She had actually stumbled and Nick had been forced to catch her to prevent her from hitting the floor. Second time tonight…
Great… now she looked like some drunken tourist.
And she was wearing the stupid flowers too, no thanks to Catherine, yeah... that was really helping dispel the drunken tourist image.
But she was certainly glad she came now.
Joining Catherine and Greg they all started dancing, the music even louder now.
As she began to move she realised that she was still a little dizzy, even now, but in a good way as her mind was still dreamily recalling the gentle touch of Grissom and the way he had been looking at her. She was keeping her arm close to her body, somehow reluctant to let Nick brush up against the skin that Grissom had so recently claimed as his own. And yes, she knew that was stupid.
Her belly was dancing inside with excitement and anticipation.
She barely saw Nick, who was smiling and holding her close, as they twirled around the dance floor, which shuddered under them with the thud of the bass.
All she wanted to do was to spin, to dance and twirl like the little girl she had once dared to be.
She certainly didn't protest when Nick stole her flowers, and guided his cowboy hat over her head, tapping the rim. She felt happy and carefree and her smile was so broad her face hurt.
Around them people were dancing and she didn't feel as exposed as she'd thought half hidden by the others enjoying the band, so she gave in and laughing, twirled around, pretending to show off her new hat. Yet, it was so much more than that.
But when she glanced back to the table, hoping to exchange a smile with Grissom and share some of her elated moment with him she found he wasn't there.
She slowed to a stop, taking in Warrick alone, nursing his pint at their table.
Her eyes flicked over the room as her heart slowly began to sink and her stomach was flooded with a new cool fear.
Slipping away from Nick, who relinquished her easily, turning to dance with Catherine and Nick completely unfazed, she left the dance floor, heading out through the crowds towards the entrance hallway to the bar.
He couldn't have left… He wouldn't leave? Would he?
But she knew him all too well. This was his typical MO.
Tease, play, warm her through, and then flee the moment it got too real…
Nick had dragged her away from the table; she'd left him at the moment when he had effectively been pretty vulnerable. Left him to mull over what was happening, in that slightly irritating way she knew he did.
Oh, Nicky, what have you done?
What was up with this accidental sabotage campaign that her so-called friends were acting under?
First Greg, now Nick. She would have thought that those two would have been happy to see her in a relationship, and eventually after they had gotten over the weirdness of it being her and Griss, she'd always imagined that they would have been really pleased for them. If any of them, she would have pegged Nick and Greg for two friends who had already suspected that there were feelings beyond that of superior/subordinate between the two of them anyway.
She burst out into the brightly lit entranceway, blinking against the harsh strip lighting, to find it completely empty.
Her hope diminishing more and more with each passing moment.
Oh God… please… please don't let him have left…