Warning – Love scene fast approaching… You'll note that I didn't say sex scene… this is mild, but I figure you should be warned. Also, you may need to know that this will be the last update until after Christmas… going to the inlaws, and no acceptable computer. Hopefully this will tide you over. Chapter 6

The breakfast was the first of many. Spening time talking, eating, and just enjoying one another's company without the tensions of the previous months, Sara enjoyed learning about Grissom and part of what made him tick. Occasionally after eating he would invite her over for coffee, and sometimes she would do the same for him, but essentially their relationship stayed in a sort of limbo. He was opening up, but slowly. Sara's resolution to be patient – to give him time – started to grate on her nerves. If the man were to move any slower, he would go into reverse.

And yet she wouldn't take the chance of tipping the delicate balance that they had achieved. They had finally regained the comfortable friendship that she had so missed, and it was something she held more valuable than anything else. Even sex.

But that didn't make the situation physically comfortable all the time. She was attracted to Grissom, despite the few pounds he'd added and the fact that he was far older than she was. She knew that he was attracted to her as well because thankfully men tended to show their interest rather… obviously. She was glad that the message was coming from his body, in the occasional uncomfortable shift that drew her glance to his groin or the distinctive bulge that he took pains to hide, because he certainly wasn't letting her know in any other way.

They kissed, although it was nothing like the heavy necking sessions she'd experienced in high school or the more involved groping sessions that she had dealt with on dates. She found it ironic, in the most painful of ways, that she finally had found a man who she wanted to touch and have him touch her, and he was being so damned careful.

The irritating frustration lasted for a week, and then two, and then a month. They worked, caught breakfast together three or four times a week, and occasionally spent a night off together either at a movie, the museum, or a show. A couple of times she had talked him into watching a video and enjoying microwave popcorn just so they could have some privacy and he could have an opportunity to make some kind of move, but he didn't take it. The man was moving slowly, and she didn't know what to do about it.

In the past, when she had wanted a relationship to progress, she had become the aggressor. Almost invariably the men were either very turned on or very turned off. There was little middle ground when it came to that kind of thing. So Sara decided that if she wanted to be aggressive, it was going to have to be subtle. It should be more a matter of letting him know what she wanted rather than demanding anything from him. Unfortunately, taking hints wasn't Gil's strong point.

On a Friday morning nearly six weeks after their first day together, Sara finally reached frustration threshold. The frustration was as much mental as physical, but that was a problem as well. She hadn't had sex in over a year, and she hadn't made love in several. She needed… something, even if it was just a sign that someday the wait would be rewarded.

The morning was pretty average as a rule. They got off work, drove to his place, and he made her breakfast. Afterwards, they sat beside one another on the couch, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her back, as they watched the news. Neither of them liked the daytime programming, so after the news he slipped in a video. It was something old – black and white – and a little dry. It wasn't that she didn't like the movie, though. If she had watched it, she might have become quite involved in the mystery. But all she could think of was the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek and the strength of the arm behind her. She wanted more than to be casually held. She wanted… more.

Lifting her head slightly, she noted that he was fairly intent on the movie. A glance down told her that he wasn't as oblivious to her nearness as he appeared, so she decided to take a chance. After all, the worst he could do was tell her to stop, and at least then she would know that she had tried.

With one finger, she trailed a path around the shell of his ear, tickling slightly. He smiled and tugged her closer to him, but otherwise didn't react. She turned her head and replaced her finger with the tip of her tongue. She was gratified when that at least got her a gasp and closed eyes, and the tightening of his arm was significantly more definite. But he hadn't told her to stop, so she didn't. Moving her mouth down, she placed small kisses against his neck, following the trail of an artery to his collar.

His eyes were closed now, and his breathing a little unsteady, but he hadn't made any return moves. She honestly didn't know what to think. With a sigh, she laid her head back on his chest snuggled closely to him. His hand threaded into her hair, absently playing with the strands as he focused his attention back on the movie. Oh well, she decided. Bummer.

The rest of the movie went on without incident, either from him or from her. She dozed in and out in the warmth of his embrace, but she really didn't catch the movie itself. She did notice when the television turned off, the absence of noise sounding louder to her than a cannon.

"Hey," she said drowsily as she shifted a little in his arms. She had slid down slightly, her head resting lower on his chest than usual rather than up at his collar bone, but his arms were holding her there securely.

"I need to get you home," he told her. "You're too tired to sit up."

She felt a sting in the back of her throat. Did he really think that was all that was behind her actions? Fatigue? Sick of waiting and wondering, Sara did the only thing she could think of. Actions hadn't worked, and hinting hadn't worked. It was time for her last line of defense. It was time to talk about it.

"I could sit up," she told him as she slid lower and wrapped one arm around his body in a gentle hug. "But this feels better."

He smiled at that. "I could get used to this," he agreed.

"Griss?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you… think of me?" she asked.

"Huh?" Great. He was his usual, oblivious self.

"I mean, I know we're friends. I wouldn't trade that. And, sometimes I think there's more, but I'm never exactly sure. I mean, I want there to be more, but I don't want to mess this up by rushing you."

"More what?" he asked, confusion clear in his voice.

She gave a sigh. Shit. He was going to make her spell it out, and she could feel her cheeks reddening already. Sex was something she considered great to do, but talking about it was torture. "More touching," she finally said. "More kissing. More… everything."

He looked down at her as he brushed her hair back out of her eyes. "We touch," he told her honestly. "And we kiss."

"I know," she admitted. "And I don't want to… rush anything, but sometimes I feel like…" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Like what?"

Horny? Randy? Ready to jump his bones? Her mind toyed with the word "unsatisfied", but it wasn't exactly true. How could she put into words – delicately – the fact that she was so sexually frustrated that she wanted to scream. "Do you want me?" she finally asked, lifting her body up so that she could look him in the eye. The movement put her hand on his thigh for balance, and she could tell from the tension there that he wasn't immune to her. That was a good sign.

"Of course I do," he told her softly. "I love having you here."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean wanting me here," she clarified. "I mean to you want… do you ever want…" Damn, this was harder than she'd thought it was going to be. "Do you ever think about getting physically closer?"

His soft smile turned into a true grin. "I've got my arms around you," he said with a wink. "How close do you want me?"

And she couldn't do it. She couldn't find the words. Something told her that she should be angry, and in a way she was. At herself. She had known going in that this wouldn't be easy, and she had known that Gil tended to take his time with things, but it was getting to the point of being ridiculous. Finally, completely at a loss for what to do, she put one hand on each side of his face and kissed him.

She could feel his smile as he returned the kiss, but it was one of those kisses that left her just wanting more. Delicate and careful, he never used a lot of pressure. He barely opened his mouth. He kept his tongue to himself. Hell, half the time his kisses lasted only a moment before transferring to her cheek or her forehead, and she was tired of feeling like a little sister. She was tired of careful, and sick of delicate, so she pressed her lips against his and slid her tongue over his lower lip. If he wasn't going to take the initiative, than she was.

His body stiffened, but she didn't let up. She had started this, and she was going to see it through. She moved her tongue back across his lower lip in the opposite direction, and then curled it up to tickle the inside of his upper lip. That caused him to take in a quick breath, opening his mouth slightly, and then she was in.

She kept it gentle, the kind of kiss she had always wanted and had never managed to find with anyone else. She wasn't there to swap spit or battle with tongues, but rather to explore and enjoy the sensations. Too many men she had known had shoved their tongue down her throat without asking her opinion. She wanted the kiss to be an invitation, not a demand.

At first, he was still. He sat frozen, nothing moving, and only the security of his arms still around her gave her the courage to continue. She played some more, using the tip of her tongue to trail around the inside of his teeth, to gently stroke his tongue, and hopefully to encourage him to do the same. For the longest time he didn't – not that she was any judge of time at that moment – and then his grip on her shifted.

She thought he was letting her go, and feared that her gamble had cost her what closeness they had achieved. She didn't want any discomfort between them; she'd lived through enough years of it, and she was done. But then his hands settled in new locations, one around her back and the other under her knees, and he carefully pulled her up onto his lap so that the kiss was easier. They were face to face now, and his hands weren't the only things moving.

God, he was gentle, she thought as he moved the hand from her back up into her hair to hold her in place. Just as he did everything, step by step and in perfect order, he kissed her. To say he was thorough would have been an understatement. Methodical didn't quite cover it either. Meticulous. Yes, that was it. Gil Grissom was a meticulous kisser, leaving no spot untouched and no sensation unfelt. She felt him subtly take control of the kiss, leading her instead of being led, and she almost cried in her relief. He did want her. He did. She had the evidence hard beneath her lap and she was loving it. She was loving him, but then she always had.

If his previous kisses had been chaste and quick, this one was as far the opposite as she could imagine. It went on forever, gentle and easy and maintaining that delicacy that she had come to associate with him. And yet, for as long as he kissed her, it wasn't long enough. Eventually, they both had to breathe, and he pulled himself back from her. He finished the kiss with little pecks on her upper lip, her lower lip, and finally he rested his forehead against hers.

"Thank you," she said, her voice just over a whisper.

"For what?" he asked.

"Reassurance," she told him. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever… if we'd… I mean…" Her voice trailed off as her cheeks heated. Yes, sex was easier to do than to talk about.

His laugh was as gentle as the kiss had been. "For a woman who has first hand experience regarding sex in airplanes, you're awfully shy about telling me what you want. If you needed assurance, you could have just asked."

"I didn't want to talk about kissing you," she said simply. "I wanted to kiss you. I guess I needed to know that you wanted to kiss me. God, I sound like a teenager!"

"No, you just sound… worried. Tell me what's bothering you."

She sighed at that. "I love having breakfast with you," she began. "I love to watch movies, and go out, and just be held when the news is on. But I'm not a kid, and… sometimes I want more. Most of the time I want more, but I don't want to pressure you."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" he asked.

"Trust me, if you did anything I didn't approve of, you'd be the first to know."

He cocked his head sideways as he looked at her, considering. "If you won't tell me what you want," he asked, "How can I trust you to tell me what you don't want?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Trust me, I'd get my point across. Besides, I know you're not going to attack me. I just… sometimes I don't think I have any effect on you at all, and that bothers me."

"Why?"

She laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Because you effect the hell out of me," she admitted. "When I'm close to you, I want to touch." She brushed a hand over his chest, then trailed it up to his cheek to stroke the soft beard.

He covered her hand with his own, then removed it to place a kiss in the palm before holding it in his, threading his fingers through hers while he appeared to be lost in thought. "Three things," he finally said. "First, I don't take sex lightly. It's a beautiful act designed to create life, and to bring people as close as they can be. It's a huge step. I'm not saying that it's too big of a step, but it is a big one." He glanced at her, appearing to gauge her reaction. "Second, I've seen too many women forced into something they don't want, or aren't ready for. Testosterone is a powerful hormone, and when it kicks in, judgment is the first thing to go. I wouldn't be able to tell from body language or subtlety if you wanted to stop, so I need to know that you'll talk to me."

When he didn't continue, she prodded slightly. "And the third?"

He was silent a long while, and his eyes didn't meet hers when he spoke. "I'm not a young man," he finally said. "I don't have the body of a thirty year old, or even a forty year old. I weigh a little more than I should, I haven't been naked in front of a woman in longer than I can remember, and I really don't want to see you run screaming."

She smiled. Okay, he'd been methodical; she'd do the same. "First, I agree with you. Sex isn't something that should be taken lightly. I'll admit that in the past I might have seen it as… recreational, but that way of thinking shifts when you find yourself with someone you really care about. I really care about you. Second, I can't imagine you forcing me to do anything. You're the gentlest man I know, and if you stepped over any lines, I'd tell you straight out. I don't do S and M, I don't like pain, and if any other objections come to mind, I'll let you know. As I can't see you liking those things either, I'd say that we'll probably get along pretty well. And as for the last… I wish that you could see yourself the way I do. Lo…" She stopped herself, cursing her near slip. "Caring about someone means taking them for what they are, not what they aren't. If I wanted a perfect body, I would have chased Nicky. If I'd wanted someone young, I could have gone out with Greg. I… care about you for more than what's physical. But just because it wasn't a priority, that doesn't mean I'm ruling anything out. I'll be honest with you; I like sex. I think I'd like it even more with you, because the feelings are more than physical. You're in my mind, and my heart… and from there, being in my body isn't such a bad thought."

He gave her a soft smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sara, there's very little I wouldn't do for you," he told her. At least he was honest; he wouldn't do anything for her. "But truthfully, I'm not ready. I've had too many relationships go sour as soon as they became physical, and I need… time."

"That's a switch," she told him, finding some genuine amusement in the situation. "Usually it's guys who are pushing for more."

"Do you need more?" he asked.

She thought about that. "I need you," she admitted. "And I want more. But I can wait. I've gotten really good at waiting."

He kissed her on the forehead and held her tight for a minute. She could feel him shaking slightly, and she realized how hard this was for him. Not for the first time, she wondered what in the hell some monster in high heels had done to him to make him so shy of loving. It wasn't something she was ready to ask, but it was something she knew was eventually going to have to be addressed. But not tonight.

"Do you mind if I…" She trailed off then, thinking that she was definitely stepping over lines with what she had been going to ask.

"Mind if you what?" When she didn't answer, he added, "What do you want, Sara?"

"Can I spend the night?" she asked softly. "I'll take the couch," she added quickly. "I just… don't feel like driving home, and I…"

"Want to be close?" he asked.

She nodded, mortified that her insecurity had been so obvious.

"I'll go get you the sheets and a blanket," he said. "And I think I have some sweats you can wear. They'll be huge on you, but you can't sleep in that."

She glanced down at her attire. They'd come straight from work, and she was wearing nice slacks and a silk blouse. He was right; she'd look horrible if she slept in her clothes. "That might be a good idea," she admitted. "If you're sure it's not a problem," she added quickly. "I mean, I can drive home if you…"

He silenced her with a thumb over her lips as he cradled her cheek in his palm. "Maybe I want to keep you close, too," he offered carefully. "I'll go get those sweats."

As Sara watched him go, she released a sigh of relief. No, they hadn't gotten as far as she might have liked tonight, but they'd pointed themselves in that direction. It was a start. Hell, it was a damned fine start.