Most of my time in Las Vegas has been spent at crime scenes, so when Grissom and I arrive at the Venetian, I'm looking at it through fresh eyes. Everything I see with him looks new and different. The sunlight streams into the plaza, making everything sparkle; there's gold trim and creamy marble everywhere, the blue of the canal is the color of Grissom's eyes. The Shoppes are done in classic Venetian architecture, all columns and arches. I've never been to Venice; I'd like to someday, but being here now I can't imagine how it would be any more romantic than this.
We have reservations for a private gondola ride; Grissom steps into the gondola first, and then turns to help me in. The gondolier on the dock tries to help, he's just doing his job, but Grissom's withering look tells him his help is not wanted. Normally, I might mind his possessiveness, but today it seems hopelessly sweet.
Grissom sits down and gently guides me back to lean against his chest, then wraps me in his arms and covers us with a blanket. His warmth and scent surround me as we ride down the canal. I don't even notice the tourists all along the pier and above us on the bridge. The only things I notice are Grissom and the effortless glide of the gondola's oar in the water.
I want to stay like this forever.
I don't realize I'm staring until Grissom squeezes me a little and raises his eyebrows. He's wondering what I'm thinking.
"Marry me, Grissom."
He looks startled, like when I pretended to be wiping chalk off his cheek. His eyes question me.
"I'm serious, Gris. I love you and I want you and I need you. I don't need fancy restaurants or a gondola ride or you in a suit - well maybe the suit once in a while." He smiles. "I don't need to wait and see or date other people to know that what I need is to be with you for the rest of my life, and I know you feel the same way. You don't have to say it for me to know, and you know that, too."
The idea seems so organic I don't know why it never occurred to me before.
He beams at me, that crazy from the bottom of his heart mixture of love, pride and amazement that makes me want to do anything just to see it again.
Finally he says, "You're right, Sara. I only need you. I've only ever needed you."
I'm calm, not at all nervous.
"So, Gil Grissom, will you marry me? Here, today?"
"Sara Sidle, nothing in the world could make me happier."
My head is spinning. I surprised myself by asking him; he surprised me by accepting. We've been more than friends, but less than anything else for so long. Now everything is going 100 miles an hour.
We're both grinning now, and we can't take our eyes off of each other. The gondolier has all the information we need; this is Las Vegas after all. We can get married on the bridge above the canal, and he arranges for a limousine to get us to the courthouse for a marriage license.
During the short trip, Grissom and I are like a couple of teenagers who have just discovered each other. When we're not kissing, we're staring into each other's eyes or he's stroking my hair, or he's kissing my hand or I'm whispering I love you's into his ear. If there's a line, we don't notice it, if the court clerk looks bored we can't tell. We don't notice much of anything except each other, and in a lover's moment we're back at the hotel, on the bridge overlooking the canal.
Grissom turns to me, and asks seriously, "Are you sure you want to do this right now? Like this? I don't even have a ring for you."
Add his thoughtfulness to the endless list of things I love about him.
"Gil, I've never been more sure. I don't need a wedding when what I want is a marriage. I don't care about some dress or a bouquet. That's not what this is about."
He smiles again and we're in front of the minister. Grissom holds my hands in his. I want to stop time, freeze this instant to capture the pureness and intensity. I want to quantify the electricity between us.
It's my turn to speak.
"I Sara Jane, take you, Gil, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."
My lover echoes me.
"I Gil, take you, Sara Jane, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."
Finally the minister, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
Grissom puts his hands around my waist and I wrap his curls around my fingers as he pulls me to him. When my lips meet his, warm, wet, and soft, I think time actually *has* stopped. His arms encircle me and hold me to him tightly, and then he pulls back to look at me.
Pursing his lips he says, "There's still time for a wedding night."
I laugh. "Race you to the limo!"
We leave Grissom's Tahoe at the hotel. It wouldn't be safe to drive since we still can't stop looking at each other. I'm so happy it makes my heart ache.
The limo takes us back to Grissom's place, our place now, I think. Those words are so foreign to me: we, our, ours, now they're the most beautiful words I know. Grissom opens the door and bends down unexpectedly. He sweeps me off my feet, literally, and I start laughing.
"What the -? Gris, what are you doing? Put me down; you're going to hurt yourself!"
He's ignoring my protests. "I'm carrying my bride across the threshold. Its traditional."
I'm holding onto his back for dear life, but I smile, "Since when have we ever been traditional?"
He shoots me a look and kicks the door closed behind him.
"Okay, Grissom. You've made your point. You can put me down now."
"Not here," he says.
He's carrying me into the house. "Grissom, you're being ridiculous."
"I'm being romantic."
How can I argue with that?
I can feel his arms straining, but I know when he sets his mind to something there's no use arguing. Funny thing is that's what he says about me. When we get to the bedroom he deposits me carefully onto the bed.
"God, Gris. Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself?"
Carrying me was harder than he'll admit to. It was also the sweetest, funniest, most romantic thing I think he's ever done.
"Sara, love, you overestimate your weight."
"But not my height."
"Ah, yes, the lovely length of you."
He takes off his suit jacket and shoes, and sits next to me on the bed, slipping off my shoes. His right hand slides down the top of my left foot, his palm runs up over my calf and then around and over my knee to my thigh, halfway up the skirt of my dress.
I watch him, curiously. I love his face when he touches me, seeing the curiosity change to concentration, then to desire. His hand moves back to my knee, then underneath, using his middle finger to trace circles in the crook.
My eyes close slightly and he balances on his other hand, leaning in for a kiss, still fingering the underside of my knee with a feathery touch. I can see his lips moving closer to mine, open slightly. I can feel the sensation before it arrives. He opens his mouth enough to cover mine. When I rise up to meet him, at the last possible moment he pulls back slightly. I try again, aching to taste his mouth. A second time he pulls away and I see the amusement on his face.
He's teasing me and clearly enjoying it.
My heart races, not knowing when he'll let me kiss him. I don't want to wait.
"Close your eyes," he insists. I close them.
I feel his lips, just his lips, on mine, granting me tiny kisses over and over, finally opening my mouth. The champagne we had in the limousine lingers on the back of his tongue; I can taste it with my own, and now I'm throbbing, blood flooding my insides, making me squirm.
His ear looks lonely, so I sit up to lavish it with attention, alternating my tongue with hot breath, desperately trying to get him out of his shirt and tie. He sighs and moves to hover over me, his hands grasping both my thighs and pushing my dress up.
Moving close to kiss his mouth roughly, I push him down by his shoulders and sit astride him, letting the bottom of my dress climb to the top of my legs. I find the right position and shift my weight slightly, rocking back and forth, getting us both so excited we can barely speak.
When he grabs my hips with his hands, I'm grateful for their warmth. When he reaches around to unzip my dress, I shrug it off and let it wrinkle around my hips. He's kneading my breasts, making me moan, and teasing the nipples, making me gasp. I take his hands in mine and bend over to run my hands over his arms and caress his torso with my hands and mouth.
"Sara," he breathes. "I can't wait."
"Good. Neither can I."
We shed the last remains of our clothing and he gently places his weight on top of me. When he's inside of me it all feels so good I could cry. I can't get close enough to him; I don't just want to be with him, I want to be him. He's gentle and attentive, then hard and needy. We revel in the sensation of each other until we reach the breaking point and cross it, finally able to lay quietly in the peace of each other's arms.
We have reservations for a private gondola ride; Grissom steps into the gondola first, and then turns to help me in. The gondolier on the dock tries to help, he's just doing his job, but Grissom's withering look tells him his help is not wanted. Normally, I might mind his possessiveness, but today it seems hopelessly sweet.
Grissom sits down and gently guides me back to lean against his chest, then wraps me in his arms and covers us with a blanket. His warmth and scent surround me as we ride down the canal. I don't even notice the tourists all along the pier and above us on the bridge. The only things I notice are Grissom and the effortless glide of the gondola's oar in the water.
I want to stay like this forever.
I don't realize I'm staring until Grissom squeezes me a little and raises his eyebrows. He's wondering what I'm thinking.
"Marry me, Grissom."
He looks startled, like when I pretended to be wiping chalk off his cheek. His eyes question me.
"I'm serious, Gris. I love you and I want you and I need you. I don't need fancy restaurants or a gondola ride or you in a suit - well maybe the suit once in a while." He smiles. "I don't need to wait and see or date other people to know that what I need is to be with you for the rest of my life, and I know you feel the same way. You don't have to say it for me to know, and you know that, too."
The idea seems so organic I don't know why it never occurred to me before.
He beams at me, that crazy from the bottom of his heart mixture of love, pride and amazement that makes me want to do anything just to see it again.
Finally he says, "You're right, Sara. I only need you. I've only ever needed you."
I'm calm, not at all nervous.
"So, Gil Grissom, will you marry me? Here, today?"
"Sara Sidle, nothing in the world could make me happier."
My head is spinning. I surprised myself by asking him; he surprised me by accepting. We've been more than friends, but less than anything else for so long. Now everything is going 100 miles an hour.
We're both grinning now, and we can't take our eyes off of each other. The gondolier has all the information we need; this is Las Vegas after all. We can get married on the bridge above the canal, and he arranges for a limousine to get us to the courthouse for a marriage license.
During the short trip, Grissom and I are like a couple of teenagers who have just discovered each other. When we're not kissing, we're staring into each other's eyes or he's stroking my hair, or he's kissing my hand or I'm whispering I love you's into his ear. If there's a line, we don't notice it, if the court clerk looks bored we can't tell. We don't notice much of anything except each other, and in a lover's moment we're back at the hotel, on the bridge overlooking the canal.
Grissom turns to me, and asks seriously, "Are you sure you want to do this right now? Like this? I don't even have a ring for you."
Add his thoughtfulness to the endless list of things I love about him.
"Gil, I've never been more sure. I don't need a wedding when what I want is a marriage. I don't care about some dress or a bouquet. That's not what this is about."
He smiles again and we're in front of the minister. Grissom holds my hands in his. I want to stop time, freeze this instant to capture the pureness and intensity. I want to quantify the electricity between us.
It's my turn to speak.
"I Sara Jane, take you, Gil, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."
My lover echoes me.
"I Gil, take you, Sara Jane, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."
Finally the minister, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
Grissom puts his hands around my waist and I wrap his curls around my fingers as he pulls me to him. When my lips meet his, warm, wet, and soft, I think time actually *has* stopped. His arms encircle me and hold me to him tightly, and then he pulls back to look at me.
Pursing his lips he says, "There's still time for a wedding night."
I laugh. "Race you to the limo!"
We leave Grissom's Tahoe at the hotel. It wouldn't be safe to drive since we still can't stop looking at each other. I'm so happy it makes my heart ache.
The limo takes us back to Grissom's place, our place now, I think. Those words are so foreign to me: we, our, ours, now they're the most beautiful words I know. Grissom opens the door and bends down unexpectedly. He sweeps me off my feet, literally, and I start laughing.
"What the -? Gris, what are you doing? Put me down; you're going to hurt yourself!"
He's ignoring my protests. "I'm carrying my bride across the threshold. Its traditional."
I'm holding onto his back for dear life, but I smile, "Since when have we ever been traditional?"
He shoots me a look and kicks the door closed behind him.
"Okay, Grissom. You've made your point. You can put me down now."
"Not here," he says.
He's carrying me into the house. "Grissom, you're being ridiculous."
"I'm being romantic."
How can I argue with that?
I can feel his arms straining, but I know when he sets his mind to something there's no use arguing. Funny thing is that's what he says about me. When we get to the bedroom he deposits me carefully onto the bed.
"God, Gris. Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself?"
Carrying me was harder than he'll admit to. It was also the sweetest, funniest, most romantic thing I think he's ever done.
"Sara, love, you overestimate your weight."
"But not my height."
"Ah, yes, the lovely length of you."
He takes off his suit jacket and shoes, and sits next to me on the bed, slipping off my shoes. His right hand slides down the top of my left foot, his palm runs up over my calf and then around and over my knee to my thigh, halfway up the skirt of my dress.
I watch him, curiously. I love his face when he touches me, seeing the curiosity change to concentration, then to desire. His hand moves back to my knee, then underneath, using his middle finger to trace circles in the crook.
My eyes close slightly and he balances on his other hand, leaning in for a kiss, still fingering the underside of my knee with a feathery touch. I can see his lips moving closer to mine, open slightly. I can feel the sensation before it arrives. He opens his mouth enough to cover mine. When I rise up to meet him, at the last possible moment he pulls back slightly. I try again, aching to taste his mouth. A second time he pulls away and I see the amusement on his face.
He's teasing me and clearly enjoying it.
My heart races, not knowing when he'll let me kiss him. I don't want to wait.
"Close your eyes," he insists. I close them.
I feel his lips, just his lips, on mine, granting me tiny kisses over and over, finally opening my mouth. The champagne we had in the limousine lingers on the back of his tongue; I can taste it with my own, and now I'm throbbing, blood flooding my insides, making me squirm.
His ear looks lonely, so I sit up to lavish it with attention, alternating my tongue with hot breath, desperately trying to get him out of his shirt and tie. He sighs and moves to hover over me, his hands grasping both my thighs and pushing my dress up.
Moving close to kiss his mouth roughly, I push him down by his shoulders and sit astride him, letting the bottom of my dress climb to the top of my legs. I find the right position and shift my weight slightly, rocking back and forth, getting us both so excited we can barely speak.
When he grabs my hips with his hands, I'm grateful for their warmth. When he reaches around to unzip my dress, I shrug it off and let it wrinkle around my hips. He's kneading my breasts, making me moan, and teasing the nipples, making me gasp. I take his hands in mine and bend over to run my hands over his arms and caress his torso with my hands and mouth.
"Sara," he breathes. "I can't wait."
"Good. Neither can I."
We shed the last remains of our clothing and he gently places his weight on top of me. When he's inside of me it all feels so good I could cry. I can't get close enough to him; I don't just want to be with him, I want to be him. He's gentle and attentive, then hard and needy. We revel in the sensation of each other until we reach the breaking point and cross it, finally able to lay quietly in the peace of each other's arms.