Disclaimer: …
A/N: The smut goes on…and so does the angst. Enjoying yourself, N?
Chapter 10
The dream began in the same way it always had.
He was sitting at his desk, in his office surrounded by the effluvia of 20-plus years in forensics. Some vital task needed his attention. Perhaps the case reviews were overdue again. Or maybe he'd forgotten to perform employee evaluations and Ecklie was on his ass about it. The details of the dream varied, but one thing never changed. Eventually, something would attract dream-Grissom's attention and he'd look up to find an earthly angel leaning against his doorjamb. Sara's whiskey eyes glowed with affection, just as they always had, but, in contrast to Grissom's real life experience, she was wearing a come-hither smile and very little else.
She wore the standard lab-issue coveralls, but that's where normality ended. The front zipper of the coveralls was open to below her navel, and she wore, in place of a bra, a figure-enhancing velvet and lace corset in an innocent, yet strangely erotic pale pink. The corset pushed her breasts up so high that they threatened to spill out of the straining cups that held them prisoner. A jeweled stud in the dip of her navel seemed to be winking at him saucily. The cloth of the coveralls began again just below the curve of her stomach, and, if he stared hard, he imagined he could see a hint of pink lace just at the V of the zipper.
In his dream, her body always attracted his attention first; when he'd catalogued the delights she was displaying for him below her neck, his eyes would wander back up to her face. Like her lower body, her face was a contradiction; Her lips were glossed in pale pink, and her face was otherwise innocently naked of cosmetics, but her hair was a messy, curly halo around her face, giving her a 'just-fucked' look. By the time he finished with his careful scrutiny, his cock was beginning to twitch.
"Sara…" he husked, his voice somehow trapped in his throat. Sara smiled, and her smile was sweet and lovely, yet seemed to promise him untold sensual delights.
"Gil, my love," she sighed, "I want you."
He swallowed, hard. "Sara, we can't…it wouldn't be right."
Dream-Sara threw her head back and laughed aloud. Somehow, the sight of her long, long, pale throat pulsating with mirth caused him to stiffen even more. He moaned, unable to control his reaction to her.
His fantasy version of Sara was bold and sensual. After she finished laughing at his weak denial, she shimmied gracefully out of her coverall and stood revealed in all her nearly nude glory, bare but for the breast enhancing corset and a pink lacy pair of panties. His heart nearly stopped when he saw a tiny bud of pink flesh emerging from the crotchless center of those panties. Her clitoris was swollen and erect, so her claim of desire for him was no less than the truth.
Then, she prowled towards him, like a predatory feline. Panicking, his heart racing from more than fear, he stumbled back against the wall behind his desk.
"We can't do this here," he protested, in a last ditch effort to stave off her attack. His back was plastered against the wall and he had both arms raised as if surrendering. When she closed in on him and licked her lips hungrily, he rolled over to face the wall, clawing at it nonsensically as if searching for an escape, but there was nowhere to go.
Then, as always happened at this point in the dream, the walls and floor shimmered and flexed before his eyes. Then, he was floating, tumbling through a vast, multihued space. When the world finished shifting around him, he would find himself in his office, once again, but where his desk and files had been, sat an enormous bed. He was kneeling upon its spongy surface, and Sara was under him staring challengingly up at him. Looking around himself, he saw that the blinds were up, the door open, and oblivious criminalists were walking by, but somehow he felt no fear of being discovered in this incriminating position.
Looking down, he noted that her corset and panties had disappeared, in the way dreams have of making objects irrelevant, and he was nude as well, his cock swiftly hardening…not fully erect yet, but well on its way, just from the sight of her nudity. Oddly, he felt completely comfortable in his own nakedness, in spite of his colleagues working and talking only meters away.
Dream-Sara smiled at him triumphantly: "Is this a better location, Gil?" she whispered. She ran one slim hand over his ass, and he moaned, hardening still more. Not needing any more response from him than that, she began to explore his body with her soft hands, running them over his shoulders, down his back, pausing to squeeze his ass along the way.
Then, those magical fingers trailed over his flanks and around to the front of him to encircle his cock. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he lost control of his breathing, panting as if he'd just run a half-marathon. She began to stroke him slowly, starting with her hand loose around the base of his penis and slowly tightening it as she dragged her hand up to his tip, until she finished her motion with a squeeze of his purpled, weeping cock-head. He was now fully erect, his cock standing so high that it thumped against his belly every time she stroked it.
He was so aroused that he was rocking into her hands, unable to control the shuddering thrusts of his hips. As he felt his orgasm beginning to swell up in his belly, he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling it away from him. At her questioning look, he explained, still gasping for breath, "I need you to stop," he moaned, "…I want to please you, first."
She smiled in acceptance. Reaching out to stroke his cheek, she murmured, "I understand…I want you to love me. You and no-one else for the rest of our lives."
The raw joy that swelled up in him at her statement left no room for further doubt.
She leaned forward, to kiss him almost chastely on the lips, and when she laid back again, he reached out a trembling forefinger and traced the sweet pink bow of her lips. Then she opened her mouth and took his finger inside, swirling her tongue around it and then sucking on it so that his turgid cock jerked.
"Sara! God, I want you so bad!" he moaned.
Sara smiled at him, her expression a blend of the sweet, awkward student he'd first met all those years ago, and the sensuous predator from a few minutes ago. "You can have me, Gil," she sighed. He closed his eyes in triumph, feeling like a male wolf whose chosen mate had just lifted her tail for him, offering him her loyalty, her body, the right to father her offspring…he felt like howling at the moon!
When he felt her soft fingers tracing his arm, from bicep to shoulder to the sensitive side of his neck, it was just a continuation of his dream, though there was an oddity to the sensation that forced his eyes to open for a moment. His vision was blurred, but he couldn't help seeing her, her slim, pale limbs, her high, proud breasts, tipped in pink, the tangle of natural brown curls between her hips…
"God, you're beautiful!" he groaned, his voice husky with arousal, and he gathered her into his arms and melded her mouth with his. Her lips were soft and slick, and seemed to merge with his until he wasn't sure where he left off and she began. His tongue demanded entrance, and her lips parted willingly, inviting him in. Their tongues danced inside the sweetness of her mouth, and, overwhelmed with desire, he had to pull back for a moment, to calm himself. But he couldn't escape the siren call of her perfect pink mouth, and he dove back in, kissing her, licking and sucking at her tongue and lips. Every time he pulled away, her lips would draw him back in.
Finally freeing himself, momentarily, he placed tender kisses from the corner of her mouth to underneath her ear, and then down across her neck to the hollow of her collarbone. He licked and sucked at that dainty dent, and then he trailed kisses back up to her shoulder, where some latent vampiric tendency surfaced in him, and he bit the join of her neck and shoulder. Then, he soothed the marks away with his tongue.
She moaned. For a second, a niggle of alarm touched his sleep-shadowed mind, but then she thrust her hips up, rubbing shamelessly against his impatient erection, and he moaned, lost in her. He devoured her lips again, unable to resist them, and raised one hand to grasp a pert breast. He stroked the plump flesh a few times and then teased her nipple with his thumb until it was as erect as he was. At the same time, he slid his other hand under her, wrapped his hand around one sweet cheek, and squeezed.
.
She groaned into his mouth and spoke recognizable words for the first time since he had begun to pleasure her. "Oh, god! Gil…" He always responded strongly in these dreams when she called him Gil…it was a longing he'd hidden for years, knowing that allowing her such a liberty in the workplace would be dangerous in the extreme. She couldn't be allowed to know that the thought of his given name on her pink lips made him instantly hard. At this moment, since he couldn't possibly get any harder for her, his cock throbbed once against his belly in reaction to her words.
Like he'd done a thousand times, in dreams, at least, he nimbly parted her legs with his knees and positioned himself against her. Needing to feel her everywhere at once, he clutched at her breast and ass, and kept his tongue tangled with hers, even as he drove himself into her, shoving his cock in so deep that he could feel his balls slap against her ass.
She was so goddamn tight, so wet, slick and hot that he nearly shot his seed into her right there and then…perhaps he should have noticed that this felt too real to be a dream, but at this point he was completely lost in her. If he let himself think about the way her vaginal walls gripped him, like she never wanted to part from him, he would lose his control much too soon. Therefore, he pulled out of her swiftly, but then thrust back in, repeating his actions over and over. He kept his pace slow and controlled, to maximize her pleasure. Since experience told him that penetration alone was seldom enough for a woman, he used the hand that was rhythmically squeezing her ass to tilt her hips up until his pubic bone was dragging across her clit with every thrust.
Beneath him, Sara was a mouthwatering feast and he was a doomed man trying to choose his last meal. Leaving a tiny part of his hindbrain in charge of the rhythmic pumping of his hips, he turned the rest of his considerable powers of concentration to other temptations. First, he returned to her neck. A smooth, slim column, he'd lost count of how many times he'd seen that beautiful neck bent over to look through a microscope or to process evidence. Every single time he saw it, he'd wanted to rub his erection up against her ass like a dog in heat. He wanted to sink his teeth into that smooth nape and take her from behind…Yeah, her neck was a major turn-on for him; he had to taste her there, again.
Starting just below her ear, he ran his tongue down the side of her neck, stopping to nip and suck at her skin every now and then. Sara was writhing under him, so stimulated that she was emitting a constant stream of soft moans and mewling gasps that she herself was probably unaware of. But Grissom catalogued every sigh, every groan. When nibbling on her collarbone caused her breathing to hitch, he memorized that spot for further study. When broad swipes of his tongue over one erect pink nipple caused her back to arch and her eyes to squeeze shut in ecstasy, he noted that too. And still his cock shuttled in and out of her hot core, filling her over and over again.
Her mouth fascinated him. He returned to join his lips with hers again and again. Even as he explored every dark secret space inside her mouth with his tongue, his hands must have suffered from ADHD, because they were constantly on the move. He ran a hand through her silky damp curls even as he kissed her and suckled her plump bottom lip. His hands, restless, moved on to clutch and rub and squeeze at her breasts, her hips, her ass. Sara's appreciation was obvious. Every time he stroked, kissed, sucked or clasped her, the volume of her cries rose a decibel.
Being inside her, skin on skin, was like nothing he'd ever felt. Grissom had always been a cautious man, and, no matter how trustworthy his sexual partners had seemed, he'd always deemed it prudent to take care of birth control himself. More than one short-lived relationship had ended because the woman in question insisted that he didn't trust her if he refused to stop using condoms. Since, in fact, that was the truth, he'd chosen not to argue the point. But now…now, he could feel Sara's living heat and moisture along every centimeter of his flesh. He could feel her rough curls scratching against his penis as his hips circled and then pushed into hers, again and again. He could feel the way her flesh reluctantly released him when he withdrew, only to eagerly suck him in again when he returned. The sensation was too incredible to quantify.
He wanted this to last forever, but an ancient mating instinct pushed him to slam into her harder and harder, seeking deeper and deeper within her. The biologist in him might have clinically described this drive as the endeavor to find the deepest part of her to deposit his genetic material, in order to shorten his gametes' journey towards their female counterparts. All he could think of in that moment, though, was that he wanted to fill her up, blend his body with hers until they were two souls existing in one body.
The rising pitch of her moans and sighs, along with the convulsive shudders that ran through her torso let him know that she was nearing orgasm. Though she tried, valiantly, to continue matching him, thrust for thrust, the waves of ecstasy flooding through her distracted and unfocused her, and her action of her hips became sloppy and stuttered. Finally, a sharp cry escaped her, and her back arched sharply. She keened as she came, and the quivering, rhythmic squeeze of her body around his cock lit a fire in his groin.
All the tension left her, and she went limp beneath him, nearly passed out from sheer pleasure. In his body, on the other hand, the tension had just ratcheted up several degrees. Overwhelmed by the intensity of what he was feeling, he buried his head in her neck, limiting the motion of his upper body to a single hand that released and grasped her ass cheek, over and over. Because she was, momentarily, unable to help him, he steadied her body against his increasingly powerful thrusts with one hand wrapped around her shoulder.
As she began to come around, and her hips began to move weakly against him, everything came to a head for him. He felt an electric snap in his center, and in sweet agony, he pushed up on his fists, crashing into her one last time with incredible violence. As his orgasm rushed through him, he held himself rigid above her, every muscle straining, his cock imbedded in her to the hilt. Only his hips moved, rocking in tiny spastic jerks as he shot his semen into her deepest depths. It went on and on; he'd never come so hard or in such quantities in his entire life.
Finally, drained in every definition of the word, all of his muscles loosened save for his arms, which, in gentlemanly instinct, still held his full weight above her smaller form. His penis, still firm enough to stretch her walls, remained deep within her, as he was loath to separate from her and end their mind-blowing connection. He was panting from his exertion, and sweat droplets were collecting in the lines of his body and probably sliding down to drip onto her. His eyes were tightly shut, in an attempt to isolate and hang on to the remnants of his climax, sparking through his system like short circuits in his body's electrical system. Sara, also, was unnaturally still beneath him.
Finally, his eyes drifted open, his vision still blurred by sleep and by sex, and gazed down upon the formerly unattainable object of his deepest yearnings. He stared into her eyes, and waited to wake up.
He could never be sure, later, what caused the first trickle of doubt to enter his brain. Perhaps it was the slightly sticky post coital feeling of his body, something that was too visceral for him to be dreaming it. Maybe it was the fact that he was panting and exhausted and soaked with sweat. Or maybe it was the uncertainty in Sara's eyes, so different from the impudence of his dream vixen. Whatever the cause, as he grew steadily more aware, his mind went numb with the realization that he was really there, she was really there, they were there, in flagrante delicto. His eyes widened and he stared down at Sara, stunned.
They locked eyes for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only seconds. His muscles were taut as bowstrings as a whirlwind of emotion swept through him. He felt, briefly, elated at the evidence that she really did desire him. Then he felt used…clearly she'd climbed into bed with him and taken advantage of his lack of awareness. Confusion was there too, in spades; where did she come from, how did she find him, why was she here? But the emotion that began to dominate after he'd had a few seconds to order his thoughts was…anger.
Before she even had a chance to gasp at the withdrawal of his body from hers, he was out of the bed and fumbling through the dresser drawers to find clothing. Grasping the bundle of clothing in front of his chest, he turned once more, still not quite believing that she was here. She was half sitting and clutching his bed sheet to her breasts, vulnerability clear in her posture. Her hair was wild and disheveled, and her eyes were beseeching. He kept his face impassive as he examined her from head to toe, and she shrank into herself as she took in his coldness. Without a single word, he turned on his heel and fled the room.
Fully dressed again, in khaki pants and a white t-shirt bearing the center's logo, he paced his tiny sitting room like a caged bear. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, over and over. He felt like throwing things, but he contained himself, though the effort caused his chest to heave with exertion. He could hear soft rustlings indicating that Sara was getting dressed in his bedroom, and he paused for a moment and slammed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of Sara's naked form from his subconscious.
For a moment, he couldn't help but revel in memories of her body merging with his, of her soft cries as he brought her to orgasm, of the silken heat of her body contracting around him. But the memories became unbearable when other memories interfered. His reminisces of kissing her sweet lips, again and again changed when, in his minds' eye, the figure of a man he respected and loved as a son stood watching, deep pain in his eyes. Memories of the rapture of feeling how wet she was for him as he probed her entrance with his erection were shattered when he imagined a diamond ring on the third finger of the hand that clutched at him. Doubt at her motivations for falling into bed with him as well as horror at his own actions had him pulling at his curly locks in torment.
The whisper of the door opening behind him would have let him know that she was behind him even if his nose, supremely sensitized already to her scent, hadn't alerted him to her natural perfume, like apricots and honeysuckle. He quickly strode to the far side of the tiny space, and, after composing himself as best he could, turned to face her.
"Why are you here?" he demanded harshly. He could see clear evidence of tears on her face, but in his current tempestuous mood, he chose to view them her attempt to manipulate him. His heart hardened further, and his glare intensified. "I…uh…Catherine…um…sent me," she stuttered, trying to control the trembling of her limbs.
Brows lifting in disbelief, "Catherine asked you to seduce me?" he queried icily, contempt dripping from every syllable.
"No!" she cried in anguish…"that was me…I just…I couldn't help it…" She quailed under his cold eyes.
Seconds ticked by in painful silence until it became clear to Sara that he was not going to speak. Gathering up the shreds of her courage, she finally blurted, without pausing for breath, "Catherine sent me to try to talk you into coming back, to let you know how much we all missed you and need you back at CSI. I'm sorry for what happened back there," at this she angled her head to indicate his bedroom, "I have no excuse for my actions. I hope you won't let my mistake prejudice you, because we all want you to come back to CSI, it's not the same without you."She panted, trying to catch her breath after her outburst. She hung her head, not daring to look into his eyes.
Inside, he was boiling, his mind trapped in an angry loop…over and over again, he thought of how Sara, the woman whose mere presence had tormented him for the last several years, had tricked him into betraying a friend. Every time he thought about her crawling into his bed and giving herself to him, Nick's sorrowful visage played before his mind's eye, and his wrath increased another notch. He refused to acknowledge that a large part of his anger came from the fact that while he'd had her physically, another man held her heart.
"Let me see if I understand this correctly," he said, and she flinched at his tone, silky with rage, "my…'friends'…at CSI sent you to ask me to come back." Then he laughed, unpleasantly. "That's actually quite funny," he mused, still in that ghastly fake-cordial tone. He watched her, eyes narrowed, waiting for her to take the bait.
Finally, she raised her eyes in trepidation, though she swiftly looked away when she saw the dark storm raging in his eyes. Finally, she nodded, her lips thin with discomfort. "Yes, that's actually very ironic," he continued, his voice getting quieter and more deadly. At her questioning look, he gave her a humorless smile before driving the knife in; "Ironic because I left CSI to get away from you in the first place!"
He took grim satisfaction in the way all color drained from her face and she swayed for a moment as if she would faint. She mastered herself at last though, and, eyes closed, managed, "I…I'm sorry you feel that way. I'll go, since you find my presence unpleasant." She snatched her backpack from the floor and made for the door, as he stood in his living room as if turned to stone, steaming, perversely furious that she was backing off.
The straight, proud line of her back and the stiff way she moved told him she was fighting off tears, and for a moment his love for her nearly broke the bonds of his anger. He almost called her back, intending to apologize and beg her to stay with him instead of going back to her fiancée. But, when she turned, at the door, to face him, his good intentions withered under the ice in her gaze. He drew himself up and quickly rebuilt the walls that her obvious suffering had nearly broken through, so that when she spoke one last time, she would see only disdain on his features.
"I want you to know, that, since you mean so much to Catherine, Nick, Warrick and the others, I would be willing to go back to San Francisco so that they don't have to lose you just because you hate me." Her offer was spoken in a voice devoid of emotion. She waited for his response, only the rigidity of her posture showing how much her icy control was costing her. When he only shook his head, decisively, her hurt and anger escaped her in one last phrase. "Well, god forbid that the iceman actually care about anyone other than his bugs! At least I got a good fuck out of the deal!"
She turned swiftly to hide the tears finally escaping from her eyes, but her parting shot had scored on the already fractured walls that were holding in his anger, and words escaped him that he would rue for the rest of his life. "You goddamn whore!" he breathed, "Get the fuck out of my life!"
His parting shot hit her like the bullet it was, and she seemed to crumple. Her slow, stately escape turned into a rout and she left his quarters, and his life, at a dead run.