Open Eyes
by van go go
Description: painting an apartment can lead to interesting things
Disclaimers: not mine, so please don't sue me
Author's notes: I love Nick, and am sick of Sara pining for Grissom. Open your eyes, girl, and see what's in front of you!
His body is smooth, the skin taut and lightly tanned except for the pale ring of skin just barely visible above the waist of his shorts every time he lifts his arms. A damp sheen of sweat coats his upper body, and she wonders idly if the salty taste of it would be bitter or sweet, or if it might taste vaguely of mesquite to go with his Texas twang.
She didn't know when she started thinking about him like this; when friendship and respect had turned to unspoken desire. She didn't used to see him as anything other than a friend – perhaps her only real friend in Vegas. She never thought that his deep chocolate eyes would ever replace the ocean-blue ones she had so long dreamed about. She wouldn't have believed that his open smile and sunny personality would ever supplant that of the enigmatic and introverted person she had so long craved. But it had. He had.
They were painting her apartment, and the rise and fall of his arms was hypnotic. Tiny flecks of light brown paint adorned his upper body, blending in with the few freckles that skimmed across his chest. She watched his hands flex on the grip of the roller, and imagined those blunt fingers touching her, shivering slightly at the thought.
She didn't ever remember a time when she had appreciated the sight of a human body more.
"You going to hand me that beer, or just let it sweat all over your hand?"
His voice snapped her back to reality, and she looked at him and grinned. "I thought I'd wait until you finished that section. You seem to have a good rhythm going." She blushed slightly at her choice of words, and hoped he wouldn't notice, or at the very least attribute her flush to the heat of her air-conditionless apartment. Stepping forward, she handed him his drink, and tried to pretend that she wasn't fascinated by the rise and fall of his adam's apple as he drank it.
She stepped past him and admired her freshly painted walls, absently rolling her cold beer bottle across her collar-bone. "Cripes, it's hot in here. I wish the air-conditioner was working."
He grinned at her as he stepped past and bent over to grab his discarded t- shirt, absently rubbing it across his chest and neck. "Leave it to you to decide to paint your apartment during the week your air is down."
"I needed a change. I really appreciate your helping me with this. I hate painting."
"Not a problem. I don't know how many summers I worked as a housepainter to raise some extra cash when I was in school. I actually don't mind doing it – I find the monotony of it soothing."
She cocked an eyebrow at him and flopped into her sheet-covered armchair. "That's just your nice way of saying you're bored."
"Nah. Painting isn't exactly exciting, but it gives me time to just let my mind wander. Besides, someone had to help you – for someone so precise in her everyday life, I've never seen a more slap-dash painter. I can't believe you weren't going to tape the edges! If it weren't for me, this room would look like it had been painted by a tornado."
He squatted down in front of her and smirked, "I think you got more paint on you than you did on the walls." His lightly traced a smudge of paint across her cheekbone, and she resisted the urge to turn her cheek into the palm of his hand. "Brown is a good color on you, Sidle."
"You're one to talk!" she snorted back, "Look at your chest and arms – you look like you've been coated with chocolate sprinkles." Her eyes drifted down his chest to his belly button, before snapping suddenly to his face. There was no way he would mistake the sudden color flooding her face for anything other than a blush.
His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smirk, "Red is a good color on you, too."
She tried to roll her eyes, but found she couldn't break his gaze long enough to do it. His hand reached up again cupped her cheek gently, and this time she gave into the urge to lean into it. It felt warm and callused, and his thumb rubbing gently under the rim of her eye was electric. His other hand reached up slowly and pulled the elastic that was holding her hair in a loose top-knot on her head free. "You are so beautiful, Sara."
His voice was hypnotic, the touch of his hands gentle, his eyes mesmerizing. "You're beautiful too, Nick," she murmured, smiling when he blushed at her comment.
"I never thought I'd ever hear you say that," he teased, "but I'll take whatever bones you're willing to throw my way, even if they're emasculating." His hands drifted from her face to her collarbone, his thumbs idly stroking her clavicle. He shifted to his knees and leaned forward slightly, "This is some first date, Sara."
"Most first dates don't even make it into my apartment, let alone end up shirtless, so consider yourself blessed." Her voice was barely recognizable as her own, all breathy and flirty. Her eyes drifted shut as he continued to gently massage her shoulders and clavicle. She felt him lean closer, his breath warm on her skin. She could smell the faint tang of beer and crest toothpaste mixed together, along with the musky smell of warm skin. Eyes still closed, she tilted her head slightly and leaned forward, lips barely grazing his before the kiss deepened into something else altogether.
His mouth was incredibly hot, his lips soft and firm. Her hands lifted to his chest, grazing over his pectoral muscles, palms skimming his hard nipples, before coming to rest on his shoulders. He was touch and taste and smell. His mouth devoured hers, tasting every mumbled gasp, nipping at her lips until they felt deliciously swollen. His tongue traced lightly across the cheekbone his palm had caressed so gently just moments before, before sliding lightly down her neck to taste the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.
Pulling away from her slightly, he rested his forehead against her own.
"Sara." His voice was husky, her name conveying a wealth of hidden meaning – desire, wonder, a slight trace of fear, and underneath it all a depth of feeling she hadn't dared hope might be there for her.
"Nick." She hoped he would hear in her voice everything she heard in his. Her hand slid to his face and brushed against the stubble under his strong jaw, "Nick."
She smiled when his lips brushed lightly against hers again before he pulled away and stood up, reaching out for her and pulling her easily to her feet. "I'm glad you finally opened your eyes." His voice was soft, but his gaze was confident.
"Me too," she replied, stepping into his embrace and scraping her fingernails across his paint-splattered chest. "Me too."
Author's Notes: this is my first fanfic, so any advice would be appreciated. Hopefully, I'll feel confident enough to write another story. So many of the author's who post here are great - I'm so glad I found this site. On a different note, Michmak - where are you? You're stories got me hooked on CSI (even your Sara / Grissom ones, although I like your Nick / Sara stories better) but you haven't written in so long! Are you ever coming back???