Short, fluffy. Shoot me. Sorry.
They had made love that night like she'd longed to for weeks: slow, long and languid. He didn't tell her that he loved her at all during those hours, didn't speak at all. He allowed his body to speak for him, and she laughed at him afterwards when he told her that that was what he had been doing. Gil kissed the inside of her elbow and behind her ear and told her that no matter what, she was exquisite and perfect to him. She'd hit him again to keep from making love to him again.
Sara was astonished to find that the good was beginning to outweigh the bad.
The nights went on and the days followed and they both found themselves allowing their metaphorical walls to crumble just a little more. In a bit over three weeks, they'd managed to disassemble the brick to leave just a small partition between the two of them, one that they could jump back over for a moment if things got too serious, or upsetting, or (heaven-forbid) romantic.
Butting heads was common between them and it seemed that no matter how well things were going, things would always get in the way. But that was life, as she had told him many times, and didn't change the fact that he was stuck with her for a very, very long time. He pretended to be exasperated with her but was secretly so very sated by the thought.
They made a home together, at both of their abodes; it was curious and intricate and neither of them would have had it any other way.
The two of them were too passionate about so many things. They butted heads from time to time, just because there was fire raging in their veins that wouldn't quit. After a particularly heinous screaming match over something that neither of them remembered, they fell into bed, a pile of limbs twisted together. The sex was torrid and hurried and sweaty and everything they both needed.
"I'd like to thank you," she murmered as she buried her head in his neck, sated and boneless. "For providing me with the most dysfunctional relationship I've ever had." Sara nuzzled him just a bit, because she felt it necessary to complete the moment.
"I do what I can," he chuckled back, smoothing her hair off of her shoulders and admiring her freckles for just a moment.
Sara laughed and placed a wet kiss on his neck. "I almost feel normal."
Almost was enough for her in that moment and she drifted, pulling herself from his grasp in her sleep. it wasn't that she wanted to get away from him, she simply couldn't handle all of that body heat when she slept. He didn't kind; In fact, it made it easier for him to watch her sleep for a moment before drifting off himself.
The bed was empty when he woke up; his hands instinctively reached for her but grasped only sheets in his hand. As his eyes fluttered open he caught sight of her, naked, standing in front of the closet. Grissom took a moment to admire her backside and then listened. She was talking to herself, about what he couldn't hear. But he heard something; yes, she was mumbling to herself. An amused smile broke out across his face.
Gil slipped from the bed, not bothering with his boxers, and snuck up behind her. "Damned dry cleaning," she murmured and leaned forward to push through the clothing. A half smile crept up on the left side of his face and he grabbed her around the waist, spun around and tossed her into bed.
She squealed and landed on her stomach, flipping over just in time for him to spread himself on top of her. A growl rose in her throat and she gazed up at him in wonder. This was not a side of Gil Grissom that she was used to dealing with; pliant, handsome, loving Grissom, looking at her like she was the only person in the world... like he wanted to eat her whole.
He must have had some nice dreams.
"You know," he mentioned as he bent to kiss her lips, "I could do this every day... for... a number of years," Another kiss. "Where the number of years equals N, where in is infinity." A few more kisses followed and Sara broke away, thoroughly amused.
She placed her pointer finger on his nose and pushed his face back. In a mock concerned tone she spoke, "Someone forgot to take his crazy pills this morning..." It was cliche and cheeky, but it was the only thing she could think to say under the circumstances
Grissom smiled and grabbed her hand and kissed the finger that had been on his nose. Smiling, he moved on to her neck, her collarbone and then darted up to her ear, where he tugged and licked and whispered, "You know, I think I could marry you Sara Sidle." He kept right on kissing her, not noticing the shock in her eyes.
As the heat seared through her body at lightning speed, she gasped and attempted to wrap her mind fully around the intent of his raspy declaration.
"Okay, I think someone overdosed on his crazy pills, come to think of it." And although Gil's words were making her frightened and dizzy, she allowed him to keep kissing her; up and down her arms, her stomach, her thighs. She chose not to think of his brash words in that moment and rather turned herself over to the sensations.
His hands moved to cup her face and he kissed her so gently, so damned gently. Sara began to slip away... away, away... away...
'Euphoria,' she thought, 'Damn, you are such a good word.'