Author's Notes: Many, many heartfelt thank yous to Cincoflex for her amazing beta work and unflagging encouragement and support. Sidle77 also deserves a huge shout out for helping me keep my head screwed on straight and for all of the gentle prodding she has done along the way. And finally, I would be remiss if I did not mention SSidleismyidol (SIMI). Despite the fact that SIMI is wholly responsible for derailing me and luring me away from this fic with a side-project throughout the spring and early summer, she is also the person who has been relentlessly zapping me with a taser and telling me to get off my lazy duff and finish this mess. So ladies? I owe each and every one of you a huge dose of gratitude and love because without the three of you I can honestly say that I probably would not have returned to this fic.
Chapter Eleven
I can't hold it on the road
When you're sitting right beside me
And I'm drunk out of my mind
Merely from the fact that you are here
And I have not been known
As the Saint of San Joaquin
And I'd just as soon right now
Pull on over to the side of the road
And show you what I mean
Grissom awoke suddenly; his body tight and covered with a thin sheen of sweat. A glance towards the window let him know that dawn had yet to light the sky and wondered idly what had roused him from his slumber. The slight weight curled against his right side brought everything back to him in a flood of memory tangled with restless desire and emotional longing. Sara was nestled snugly against him, her head upon his shoulder, her hair loose and flowing about them both. Her hand lay over his heart, her fingers occasionally moving in her sleep in the slightest of caresses across his bare skin. Her right leg was raised over his, resting intimately between his thighs.
He rolled his head and inhaled deeply, the scent of lavender filling his senses. Lying abed with Sara was the sweetest of tortures and he could not remember a time when he had been so aroused. He had not allowed himself the luxury of accepting comfort from another since he had been blamed and then exiled for the death of Rivka, Sara's mother, some fifteen years prior. He carried the guilt of her death heavily upon his conscience and did not believe himself deserving of simple human contact and comfort.
Shifting slightly, he laid a heavy hand upon his erection and rubbed fiercely in short harsh strokes in an effort to find some measure of relief. He could usually will away his base desires by reciting the Psalms or recalling one of the many scriptural lessons learned in the monastery but he knew this time all of those efforts would be in vain. The soft fragrance of Sara and her sweet weight upon his frame was more exotic, more intoxicating that the strongest of liquors he had ever sampled during his many travels. She had managed to stir feelings within him that he thought he would never have the chance to explore.
He sighed heavily, realizing he had but two choices here. He could take the matter in hand or simply let nature run its course during the night. He was no stranger to either situation and this would certainly not mark the first time he had awoken to find both his linen shorts and bedding wet and sticky, the remnants of a little-remembered, hazy dream clinging damply to his thighs. However, the mere thought of having this happen while Sara was lying beside him was more than he could bear. He was torn between choosing the lesser of two evils and willfully performing an act he had always been taught to be a sin, a lesser sin to be sure, but a sin all the same.
La da da da da da
La da da da da da
July, you're a woman
More than anyone I've ever known
Grissom gently eased from the bed, taking care not to wake Sara. Her sleep seemed to be untroubled and she needed the rest. He moved before the fireplace, his hands clenched into fists. He forced more of his weight upon his injured leg hoping that the pain would help to ease the one in his loins. His head slumped upon his chest as he realized that this would not go away simply with a force of will. He was so hard that the pain between his legs rivaled that persistent burning in his thigh.
And I can't hold my eyes
On the white line out before me
When your hand is on my collar
And you're talking in my ear
And I have been around
With a gypsy girl named Shannon
A daughter of the devil
It is strange that I should mention that to you
I haven't thought of her in years
Slowly, reluctantly, his placed his left hand upon the mantle to steady his weight as his right hand unlaced the ties of his braies and the loose linen shorts dropped swiftly from his lean hips to pool atop his bare feet. He ran the palm of his hand over the head of his erection, smearing the leaking fluid before wrapping his thick fingers around his cock and starting a slow, steady rhythm.
La da da da da da
La da da da da da
July, you're a woman
More than anyone I've ever known
Sara awakened the moment Grissom left the bed. She remained silent, stealthily watching him from the nest of blankets. She thought perhaps he had been suffering some pain from his injury but her eyes widened in shock as he dropped his shorts and took himself into his hand.
She was unable to tear her eyes away. She had thought him beautiful earlier in the evening when she had stolen the opportunity to indulge her curiosity a bit. But now, to see him fully aroused and lost within himself and his own needs, she believed him to be nothing less than magnificent. She was in awe over the sheer size of him and the ferocity with which he stoked himself, the unleashed power of the thick, knotted muscles bunching tightly in his upper arms and the ropy sinew of his forearms flexing and relaxing with each heated pass of his hand along his burning flesh.
Her breathing soon matched the movements of his pumping hand and thrusting hips as she continued to watch, feeling her thighs grow damp as that strange warmth once again pooled deep within her stomach and spread lower to stir desires she scarcely recognized or yet fully understood. Sara risked a glance at his face, reluctant to pull her eyes from the pounding, rhythmic dance he was performing, but she needed to see him, to know him, in this most unguarded and unrestrained moment.
Grissom's face was a study in haunted, painful pleasure. His eyes were closed, thin brows furrowing tightly in concentration, thick, dark lashes stuttering against his richly flushed skin with each pulsing thrust of his body. His lips were parted, soft grunts accompanying his ragged breathing, a primal, feral syncopation accenting the natural, timeless choreography existing between hips and hand, hand and hips. The faster his hand flew, the more guttural his grumbling until, for just a moment, his breath froze upon his lips and his voice seemed strangled into silence.
He threw his head back, the tendons on his neck standing out and a soft growl escaped his tightly clenched jaw as he ejaculated, the strength of his release causing him stagger a bit. Sara's mouth gaped as he erupted, unconsciously licking her lips as the milky-white substance bubbled over his fist and shot into the fireplace, sizzling upon the logs and causing the flames to dance and flicker in response.
I can't hold it on the road
When you're sitting right beside me
And I'm drunk out of my mind
Merely from the fact that you are here
And I have not been known
As the Saint of San Joaquin
And I'd just as soon right now
Pull on over to the side of the road
And show you what I mean
His head dropped back and his chest heaved as he struggled to bring his breathing under control. Finally, with a great heaving sigh, he stirred himself back to awareness. He glanced furtively towards the bed before moving to dip one of the clean linen strips still piled upon the straw pallet in the kettle of water to clean up both himself and the floor. He pulled his braies up and knotted them about his hips before limping slowly back to the bed and slipping beneath the covers.
Sara pretended to stir as she felt his arm settle about her and pull her close. "Are you well?" she whispered into the darkness, touching her lips briefly to his neck, savoring the sweat salt she tasted on his skin. She felt him nod and smiled a little to herself. "You seem restless. Is your leg bothering you?"
He smirked ruefully to himself before shaking his head and tucking her more securely into his side as they drifted off to sleep once more.
La da da da da da
La da da da da da
July, you're a woman
More than anyone I've ever known*
*"July, You're a Woman" Words and Music by John Stewart. (Signals Through the Glass [Capitol 2975, 1968], California Bloodlines [Capitol, ST203, 1969], The Phoenix Concerts [RCA, APL2-0265, 1974], Forgotten Songs of Some Old Yesterday [RCA, PL 43155, 1980], Gold [Wrasse Records, WRASS016, 2000], Airdream Believer [Shanachie, 8075, 1995].
