I just want to give all of the wonderful reviewers a big hug.

Grissom's House

Sara slowly made her way to Grissom's front door. She stood there for a second composing herself. She hesitated before she finally knocked. Grissom immediately answered the door, like he was standing on the other side with his hand on the knob waiting for her. Which was the truth. He wasn't sure if she would actually show up and neither was she. He pulled the door open and stepped to the side and waved her in.

"Come on in and make yourself at home."

"So, Chef Grissom, what's for breakfast?"

"What do you want?"

"For breakfast or in general?"

"For Breakfast. We'll work on the other later."

"I'm not really that hungry. I'll just have some toast, if you can fix it."

"I think I can manage toast. I invite you over and offer to cook you breakfast and all you want is toast?"

"I'm not that hungry."

"Why? Are you nervous?"

"Are you?"

"To be honest, I'm a little bit nervous."

"Yeah, me too. But we shouldn't be nervous, we're around each other all night every night."

"But that's at work. It's a whole different ballgame when you're at my house on personal time."

"Yeah. Why did you invite me over anyway?"

"You just seemed like you could use a…um…"

"A little diversion?"

"Something like that. So, how many pieces of toast do you want?"

"A couple will be just fine."

"All right then, your order will be up shortly."

He went to working fixing their toast. He decided, because of his nerves, to follow her line of thinking and only have toast also. She quietly watched him prepare the toast. Her eyes were drawn to his hands as he spread the melting butter on the hot toast. She always loved to watch him use his hands. She would catch herself at times, like now, wondering what those hands would feel like running over her bare skin. How would his fingers feel combing through her hair? What would his lips and tongue feel like as they…

"Breakfast is served."

"Wha…oh, thanks."

"Where were you just now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seemed like you were deep in thought and miles away."

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"If you're a good boy, I'll tell you later."

"Okay. I guess I'll have to be on my best behavior then."

They ate their toast in silence, sneaking lingering glances at each other. They finished up and Sara watched as Grissom cleaned up their mess and put everything away. Sara decided it wouldn't be a good idea to let her mind wander again, so she curiously strolled around taking in her surroundings. Grissom noticed her checking out his place and hid a small grin. It was wonderful having her in his home. She had that investigator look and he knew she was cataloguing every detail into her memory.

"So, CSI Sidle, does my place pass inspection?"

"I wasn't inspecting, I was just looking around."

"Trying to find a few more pieces to fit into the puzzle that is Gil Grissom?"

"That's one puzzle I'll never figure out, no matter how much I try."

"What if I give you all the pieces?"

"And what would I have to do for that to happen?"

"Tell me what you were thinking about earlier."

"I don't think you want to know."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Even if it's X rated and makes you uncomfortable?"

"You were having dirty thoughts while I was making you breakfast?"

"They weren't that dirty. They were more R rated than X."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"But I was a good boy."

"Okay, fine. I was thinking about your hands…and what they would…oh, never mind. I can't tell you."

"Come on, keep going. My hands and what they would?"

"Let's just say it involved hands, bare skin, fingers in hair, lips and tongues…and you get the point?"

"Uh…yeah…I get it."

"See, I knew it would make you squirm."

"I'm not squirming just a little surprised."

"You asked for it."

"That I did. Let's just have a seat on the couch a relax a little."

Sara sat down in the middle of the couch—a trick her cousin taught her. She could hear her cousin's words now 'If you sit in the middle, then the guy has to sit right next to you.' Grissom knew the old sit in the middle of the couch trick but didn't mind sitting next to her. He thought it was amazing how she always seemed to need to be as close to him as she could get. He sat to the left of her and put his arm on the back of the couch behind her. At first she was sitting forward but when she leaned back she felt his arm on her neck and she froze for a second. The things that little innocent touch stirred up in her made that tension tick up a couple more notches. And when he looked at her and smiled she could feel herself slipping into that dangerous territory of wanting to jump him. Nobody in the history of the world had as much restraint as Sara Sidle had in that moment.

"So, Sara, about all your tension, maybe we…"

He didn't have time to finish what he was saying because at that moment her lips were on his. He was a bit startled at first but soon gave into the moment. The kiss was a quick, desperate need for a taste of the other. When the need for air finally pulled them apart, it dawned on Sara what she had just done. A look of shock crossed her face tinged with a little embarrassment. Grissom knew that look and he could see how tense she was. He cupped her face in his hands and smiled sweetly at her. She saw the soft expression in his eyes and relaxed a little. She had expected him to flip out and tell her to leave but he never did. They were still in that moment lost in each other's eyes. He still had his hands on her face and he didn't seem like he wanted to be anywhere else.

.

"What are you thinking, Grissom?"

"I'm thinking that after all these years that one kiss just wasn't enough. I think we need to kiss some more…to, uh…"

"To make up for lost time?"

"That'll work."

And so they kissed again. This time was sweeter, more sensual. They took their time savoring every second, slowly exploring. Hands moved over clothes and lips blazed new trails over exposed skin. It was a beginning and who knows where it might lead.

.

.

.

Should I write more or leave it at that?

I hope this was alright. Everything I ever write sounds corny to me. I'm my own worst critic.