A/N: Blame Lauren, she sorta begged for it.

Clandestine.

He couldn't get enough of kissing her. It's become an addiction, one that he attempted not to succumb to in the halls of CSI. Quite a task, but he'd been able to hold back, wait until he got to her apartment or vice versa.

But generally, he had her pressed against the hard wood in seconds, his lips falling on hers, always stealing the laugh away from her. He'd kiss just about every inch of exposed skin before he would stop himself, if only to breathe. It was a nice existence. Working and kissing and kissing some more after the initial kissing.

The bane of his existence was her lips and her tongue and the gentle sighs she would emit when he'd press his open mouth to the pulse point on her neck. Yes she was alive, but she was resilient when his lips were on her.

It'd become a pattern. Their time together was spent talking, reading, and lying in bed together, kissing... and trying desperately not to do anything more. It wasn't that they weren't ready for it, far from it. If he'd taken her there on their first night, swept the dishes off the kitchen table and laid waste to her confusion, they both would have woken up in the morning and done it again.

Now, they were just proving to each other that they could hold out. That their relationship was going to be built on something other than sex.

He was kissing her all over and no one knew.

And if no one knew they were kissing, what were the chances that no one would know that they were doing other more, invasive things?

Grissom was ready to test that theory but he wasn't going to push the envelope. He was going to let things happen naturally; they'd just... fall into it. And when it happened, it happened. He wasn't rushing it but he wasn't putting it off either.

It hadn't happened like she'd intended it to; it hadn't happened like she wanted it to. In his house, after shift, it was normal enough for them to be found eating breakfast, and they were. But she'd spilled orange juice on her shirt, and swore, and he was sweet enough to offer her one of his shirts.

But seeing her, afterwards, swathed in his UCLA tee shirt, screwed up his heart so tightly that he couldn't breathe.

"What?" She asked, looking down at herself, scrutinizing the shirt, wondering if she was making an ass out of herself somehow.

He walked slowly to her, and there, in his kitchen, like the first time, he kissed her. And she didn't stop him when he lifted the shirt from her, leaving her in his arms, white cotton and jeans. His arms were still around her and she shivered feeling the skin of his arms sliding over her back.

There was no place to go but his bedroom after that. There really wasn't an option. Sure, they stumbled and nearly fell... twice... on the way down his hall. Sure, he smacked his elbow into the wall rather hard, attempting to walk her backward while walking himself in a straight line.

His immense brilliance and finesse didn't prove to be in attendance, especially when he couldn't succeed in removing her bra. "God damn it, is there a lock on this thing?" He huffed out, tugging at the material vehemently. She swatted his hands away and unhooked her bra in a matter of seconds, throwing it in his face.

His face twisted to look annoyed, but he fell to her neck, wishing for a moment that he could take up residence there. It was just so warm and smooth and delicious. He bit a tad too hard and she yelped and ran her hands through his hair and brought his lips up to hers again.

He had her under him and was kissing her brow line when he wondered... did he even have a... was there...he couldn't have forgotten to bring any... it just wasn't-

"Griss, Griss grab my pants." He shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs and asked her to repeat what she'd said. "Grab my pants!"

"Why?"

"Well, for starters... do you have any condoms genius?" Oh, well, no he didn't but- "Grab me my pants."

He did, but only because she was glaring at him in such a manner that left him no alternative. And, well, he didn't have a condom, so he really didn't have an alternative.

Okay, he needed to remember some things, don't rush things and don't rush ahead and... oh. Coherent thought was pretty much moot at that point, when she gasped and clutched him.

He wouldn't have been a man if he weren't impressed with himself for having such a gorgeous, lithe woman on top of him. Not that he knew why she wanted to be in that compromising position on top of him...

But then again, he wouldn't have been a man if he didn't want to be dominant in that situation, their first time, so he flipped her over rather quickly and pinned her under him. It wounded his ego, however, when she laughed aloud, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, chuckling mercilessly.

She couldn't feel more at once: delighted, aroused, loved, scared, nauseous, relaxed, jittery. But above it all, god she felt him just, loving her and it made her too giddy to function.

"What?"

Sara's eyes squeezed shut as she laughed harder and shook her head, telling him that she just couldn't speak at the moment. She turned her head into the pillow and laughed harder. His face fell and he braced more of his weight on his hands and prepared to roll off of her.

That snapped her from her laughing fit. "No! No, no no no." Grabbing him around the shoulders, she pulled him back forcefully to her.

Okay, he was confused. Very, very confused.

"I just, oh god, I just. I love you." And there she was, laughing again. How could she laugh after saying something like that!

"...oh." He knew it most certainly could not be more awkward than it was right that second. Him, inside of her, on top of her; she, under him, laughing, tears rolling down her face, telling him in the silliest voice possible, that she loved him. 'Oh' indeed.

Sara smiled and squeezed his shoulders. "Sorry, just I uh..."

"Sara." She shut up. "Stop talking." She bit her lip and smiled and flushed pink.

"I love you too." He said seriously, kissed her and began to move.

Well, that felt nice, getting that off of his chest.

It felt even nicer, being inside of her. She felt... trusting. If nothing else he felt that he could let go, with her beneath him, around him, now loving him in a way he was fairly certain that no one else had or could. It was positively ethereal really, hearing her gasp, seeing her eyes clamp shut when he touched her between her legs. Positively amazing what he'd been starving himself of.

Her hiss of a voice snapped him from his internal dialogue.

Brows raised, not trusting his voice to ask her to say it again.

"Kiss me." She gasped.

Of course. Of course he would forget to do something, of course he'd overlook something. Damn it; he kissed her, lazily, slowly, perfect. Not because of anything he did, or even because of how beautiful she was, but perfect because it was her and he just... loved her.

The one thing that he was sure to do, was wait for her. And he did, holding out until she gasped and gritted her teeth and dug her nails into his back until he bled. He let go, strangled sounds coming from his throat, sounding like he was having car trouble.

They fell together on the bed, breathing heavy. For a moment, Sara wondered if he was about to have a heart attack, the way he was clutching his chest, but his arm snaked out and dragged her to him. It didn't matter that they were on the wet spot. It didn't matter that his shirt had gotten ripped when he'd been taking it off her. It didn't matter that they'd left the coffee pot on... oh wait, it did matter.

Sara climbed from the bed to shut it off and came back on wobbly legs. She was shamelessly naked and Grissom could clearly see the red marks he'd left on her body. A violent shudder when through him, he'd claimed her, literally claimed her with his mouth and teeth and tongue.

He felt powerful and heady and, well, more than a little sleepy. So when she climbed back into bed and pulled her to him, he found it only logical to shut his eyes. Sara, however, had other ideas.

She twisted in his arms and he opened his eyes to be met with hers. She smiled. He smiled back.

They were silent.

"What am I forgetting?" He asked aloud, squeezing her side gently.

Sara moved in and kissed him languidly. She leaned back and whispered, tired herself, "Pillow talk."