That was the worst sentence in the history of sentences. The other sentences would go out with it and be like, "Oh, I don't know that sentence…" -Lauren
Thank you to Kirsten, Inc.
Dust particles glittered in the all too bright morning light and she watched them out of the corner of her eye.
They were lying on their sides, sighing and kissing. Touches were light but purposeful, skating over still-clothed skin, warmth tempting able fingers as they ventured forth. Embarrassment would have tinged a blush upon her cheeks if her brain could have registered the way he was gazing at her.
Smudges of orange still clung to her skin but his hands bypassed them, as if the texture didn't register at all. "I... don't want us to leave here until I've counted every freckle on your body." And though that was nice, and the thought was more than arousing...
"But... paint." True, the paint was covering a significant portion of the little blips, and Grissom drew his head away from her neck to give her a deflated look.
A twitch registered on his lips and then a smile. "Okay, we'll just have to shower after then."
That sent a strong jolt of something like desire (it had been so long since she'd felt it) skittering down her spine to lodge heavily between her thighs. Sara slithered her left leg up over his right leg, pulling him in between her legs, his hard thigh settling in against her still-clothed arousal. "Showers are good," she sighed and leaned in to kiss him some more.
He was quite good at it, and judging by the sounds he was making, judging by the way he was clutching at her, she was doing something right as well. Her hand had maneuvered its way beneath his shirt and was touching naked back. It was heady, the warmth and scent of him in her arms.
All hers for as long as she liked.
Slowly, Grissom pressed his hand over the rise of her hips to touch bare skin. A seething sigh was sucked in between her teeth and she muttered a little shakily. "Take them off. Please."
Licking his lips, he peeled them off. He didn't glance at her panties, or her long legs, finding her eyes much more interesting, her reaction to having the sun streak across her skin followed by the tips of his fingers. A belated smile, a small thing, flickered across her face as arousal flared up in her gaze.
Sara grabbed Grissom's hand and dragged it up her thigh, pressing his fingers into the thin band of material holding her panties to her body. "Off. Please."
She was being so polite, so correct that it nearly undid him, as if she had planned for this moment, as if she knew exactly what to do in that situation. "My, my, Sara Sidle..."
"Mmmm?" she hummed grasping the edge of his shirt. "What?" Up–she pulled and off it came; she found herself drawn to the warm skin of his chest, leaving little, wet pecks with her lips, lightly scratching with her nails.
"I forget," whisper-thin, his voice rasped as hands lightly grasped around her back, dying, really dying to feel the skin beneath. So he pulled the paint-spattered knit sweater thing off of her body. His fingers immediately sought out the skin of her stomach, pulling orange streaks this way and that, not caring that the paint might be toxic when he kissed over her.
Sara rolled onto her back, her nails spurring him to move over her and linger, wanting badly to press hard into the vee between her thighs. It was nearly bliss but the worst possible torture at the same time. "So warm, beautiful," she muttered before he stole her lips away again, his tongue caressing hers slowly.
Modest chest pressed to a heaving one, Grissom fumbled with the clasp on his pants, wanting, needing them off as soon as possible. Sara laughed and passed a hand over her face, skewing her already mussed hair directly into her eyes. And she laughed at his withering look when the zipper stuck halfway down. And she laughed at his hideous red and green flannel boxers.
"Yes, yes, ha ha." Grissom brushed off the look and tossed his pants behind him.
Sara sat up on her elbows, "That's okay, I don't much want them on anyway."
That was what really snapped him to reality, that's what helped the notion that he was about to make love (perhaps for the first time in his life, though he'd had plenty of sex) with the one person he ever wanted to make love to from that point forward.
A moment was about to happen, something was about to begin and evolve and it meant something. But all he could think about was the body before him, the pressure between his own thighs, the way she was inviting him to lie with her, trusting him with everything.
"Come here," she whispered. "I'm cold." And he did, went to her arms, settled down and simply kissed her for a while enjoying the simple pleasure before things became more complicated. Palms on arms, shoulders, neck, hair and then lower to stomach, hips, legs and back up.
Teasing touches from both of them, skirting around the more sensitive spaces. Gasps and groans and whispers when whispers weren't even meant to be uttered.
Her bra went with a small 'snick' and he attended the new skin with care, administering kisses and caresses and nips, many, many nips. He might have called her beautiful but she wasn't listening. The only thing that was registering in her ears was the rasping of the blankets as she tossed her head. Besides... he'd told her was she beautiful before and she had believed him. Once was enough.
The way he was touching her, she knew it was true.
She bucked when he passed two fingers under the satin at the apex of her legs. She bucked hard and keened for more and he gave it, from his tongue to the corner of his mouth, fingers delving in and on, pressing, pressing and releasing.
And the sun continued to course in, hot and heavy from the window.
The slick material slid from her hips and Grissom burned with the idea of tasting her, learning the salt, the skin, the tang but her lips drew him away. Lips that were telling him of want and need and... love. Lips that he kissed and memorized and promised himself to kiss for as long as forever could possibly be.
So warm, so wet that he almost rid himself of the boxers himself. That was her call... he'd let that be her call...
Sara's hands were insistent at his waist, pushing the material off, staring up at his eyes, panting, then biting her lip and then panting some more. He too was nearly breathless. "We gonna-"
"Yeah."
"You have-"
"Yeah."
He grabbed the small packet from the very corner of the bed and brought it to his teeth to tear it open. Once it was, she snatched it from his hands and brought it forth and rolled it on, one hand on his cheek, the other securing it around the base of his arousal. "Griss, I, I..."
"Mmm, yeah, know, I mean, I know."
"Know huh? What?"
"Love you."
Gazes captured in each other's eyes as he pressed into her, stretching. "LoveyoutooIthinkohhh..."
Teeth scraping against one another Grissom tried to maintain control. He was close, he wouldn't deny it. Hell, he'd been on the verge for years just waiting to get over his goddamned insecurities and he wasn't sure how long he'd actually last. He doubted she would care but that didn't stop him from wanting to make it as close to amazing as he could.
He was a man. He had an ego. He was determined to rock her world as best as he could. "I, Sara, I won't last uh-"
"I know," she whispered, pretending that the situation wasn't awkward. "Gil, I don't care."
And the way she looked at him, indescribable and unbelievably understanding, he knew they were on the same page and he allowed her palm to guide him into her.
The first few seconds were something surreal, the grip of her body around him, her little gasp and wide eyes, fingers clutching his biceps. 'So this is what amazing feels like,' he thought to himself as he watched a shaky smile take over her face. "Slow," she muttered and drew her legs as far up his back as they would go.
Shallow strokes in and retreating and their words melded together until they had to watch each others lips to understand what was being said. "Griss," she groaned, nearly sounding comical with the way she was nearly begging him. "So, you're so… me, you… god."
Delicious sweat began to tickle the dip between her breasts and it smeared against his skin, a little salt, a little heat. "Sara I-jesus I-"
And he came, heat and liquid and wonder and though she didn't follow in his wake, she held him and watched the surrender overcome his frame. "Sara," he lifted his head from where it had fallen into the crook of her neck, forehead sticky with sweat, both of theirs.
She kissed his forehead and brought his face back down next to her neck. "S'okay, I… it was."
"What?' he asked, breathing heavy, licking her neck for good measure.
Sara bit her lips and trained her eyes on the ceiling. "A… an emotional release. A realization." He stared at her blankly. "Oh, I don't know, just… things are starting to make sense. In my head."
He kissed her lips and dragged her as close as he possibly could. "And besides, there'll be time for other things later," she quipped, voice naughty.
They chuckled and breathed and watched as shadows shifted and made love to the fresh, bright walls.
"I've gotta call out of work tonight, can't go in... after that," he gasped and she drew her hand across his chest, laughing lightly. "Can't even walk... for hours I bet."
"You don't have work tonight," she murmured, kissing his neck, finding kissing him to be much more interesting than speaking, than analyzing what had really just happened.
Grissom blinked, shifted down in the bed, and glanced at her. "Oh. I don't?" Sara shook her head, looking at him dreamily. "So I can spend all morning in bed?" She nodded. "Fabulous." A strong hand scooped her nearer and while she couldn't really breathe, she didn't really care.
"Guess we worked around that two week thing," Grissom said lazily, as his thumb began to circle a naked shoulder.
Sara turned her head a bit and scrunched her brow. "Huh? What do you mean?"
The smile that crossed his face was the one that she had been waiting for the years she'd been in Vegas. "Sara, it's been two months."
It could have been the sun, or the way he was looking at her, but she had to close her eyes. How could two months have slipped by without her even noticing? Even as a hand tangled in the locks at the base of his head, it stunned her how he'd snuck into her heart so easily, so slyly. Who was she kidding, he had always been there, she just didn't want to admit it.
"So it has…"
"And we're okay?"
"Better than okay, I think." Sara brushed the hair from her face, allowing several of the insane things that had happened to sink into her brain.
Grissom pulled one of the ruined blankets around them and gazed down longingly at her. He doubted he'd ever get tired of the sight… ever, ever.
"One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, one hundred," she whispered, peering out the giant window beside them.
"Huh?"
"Nothing," she muttered, laughing to herself, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Nothing, let's sleep."