A/N: Thanks to Rosa for her wonderful phrasing abilities. Without her, Sara pinning Grissom would have sounded like a cheap sex novel. Instead it sounds like a sorta expensive sex novel!

Chapter 68

"Grissom," Sara groaned, "you lied, you did throw out some of my stuff!" She picked up a bra that was hanging over the side of the bathroom trashcan and playfully tossed it at his head. "I'm pretty sure this isn't yours, and it IS in your garbage can."

He caught the projectile and held up his hands helplessly, grinning back at her. "It's ripped, what did you want me to do with it?" He paused, striking a dramatic "thinking" pose. "Well I suppose I could have slept with it under my pillow . . . or worn it under my shirt so I could feel close to you? But then the boys at work would have thought I was a little odd."

Sara was enjoying this banter. Lately they'd spent most of their time arguing, not joking around or even just talking. "Well, I suppose it could be Catherine's," she mused out loud, an evil grin on her face. "You and your harem of female CSIs . . ."

"No offense, Sara dear," Grissom answered her in an overly sweet voice, "but I suspect that if it were Catherine's, it would fill a larger proportion of that trashcan. You know, you're just not as, uh . . . well never mind that." He grinned wider when Sara gasped.

"Grissom! Did you really just say that? Eeww!" Though she knew it was true, she also knew that Grissom meant no offense. Sara had long ago faced the reality of her less-than-abundant chest. Such a remark couldn't go unpunished, though, and she caught him by surprise with a leg sweep behind his knees, knocking him down before he could react.

Grissom went over onto his back without a sound, managing an "oof!" only as he hit the ground. Before he could say more than that, she had trapped his hips with her knees and his shoulders with her hands, placing the topic of conversation squarely in his viewing area. "So you'd rather have Catherine's boobs in your face like this?" she growled, leaning farther over him.

Grissom reached out and knocked her off her hands so that she landed flat on his chest, then smiled an inch away from her face. "Well, you know, I take what I can get . . ." He stopped, letting out a comical squeak as Sara's knees squeezed him. "Ow! Mercy!" he laughed, wrapping his arms around her. "You already beat me up once today!"

She levered herself back up onto her hands for a moment, eyeing him warily. "Let's not talk about that, ok? If you keep bringing it up I'm gonna keep feeling more guilty. And when I get guilty, I'm not such a big fan of wrestling grown men to the ground."

"Heaven forbid! I'll forget it ever happened." He grabbed a hunk of her hair and gently pulled her down toward him again. "Now come on, my ego's as bruised as my cheek, make me feel better!"

Later

            "Told you I wouldn't break," Sara said, smirking at him. She was sprawled over Grissom on the couch, idly toying with his hand. As she laced her fingers with his and wiggled them experimentally, she added, "It didn't even occur to you to worry about that once I got you distracted, did it?"

Grissom shook his head. "You're right, Sidle, I forgot about it." He tightened his grip on her hand and began to push their joined hands toward her; Sara, in turn resisted the pressure, leaving their hands dueling in midair between them. "You're right too often," he quipped. "I'm the boss, I'm supposed to be the one who's right."

Sara grinned. "Yeah, well, you're the one who gets to correct all of us at work, so it's really only fair that I get to be right at home." She swiftly slipped her hand out of his grip, causing Grissom to propel himself slightly forward with the pressure he was still exerting. "Gotcha," she laughed as she caught hold of his head and pulled him down to give him a crooked kiss.

Chuckling, Grissom extricated himself from her grip and sat up, pausing to check his watch. "Five forty-five, Sara, better get in the shower." He gave her a gentle push and Sara, not expecting it, rolled off his lap to land with a "thump" on the ground.

She scrambled to her feet and gave him a dirty look. "Grissom! You know, sometimes I hate you." She smiled inwardly at the apprehensive look that appeared on his face and added, "Other times, I just want to very deliberately make you late for work – just so you have to explain it to everyone else."

He held up his hands defensively. "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache." When Sara tried to hide a grin at hearing the old joke in this context, he gave her a smarmy look and added, "Also, we both have way too much work to get done to goof off now. Imagine trying to explain to Mobley that we were too busy in the shower to check on those DNA results?"

Sara eyed him thoughtfully. "Fine, fine," she replied in a whiney tone, "I'll go get . . ." she choked on a laugh as she consciously looked Grissom full in the face for the first time in hours, but managed to quickly finish, "get a, um, shower. Bye!" She sprinted through the doorway and into the bathroom, leaving Grissom puzzling about what was so funny. Did he have lipstick on his cheek or something?

He took a swipe at his cheek with the back of his hand, but it came away clean – no lipstick, no makeup. What was so funny??