Black Ties are Better on the Floor
Sara and Greg are sent to the National Convention in Wichita.
Three months after 'every spark,' one month before 'photos on the mantle'
……
"Nuh uh."
"Yeah huh."
"Nuh uh."
"Yeah huh."
"Liar."
"No you."
"No you."
"Pants on fire."
"You like my pants."
"I like you even more without them."
"Greg!"
"What?" Greg placed his hands on his hips on the other side of her bed; waiting for her to speak, grin tugging at the corners of his lips. She was going to break, any second. He could feel it. She let out a frustrated groan, and tossed a duffel bag at him.
"Stop picking a second grade fight with me and pack your bag. The plane will leave regardless if we are on it." She let the grin spread over her own lips, she didn't have to look at him to know he was about to suggest they skip the plight to the airport and crawl back into bed. "No, we have to actually attend this one."
"I just simply don't understand why the association holds them, it's like we all don't have places to be, criminals to jail, people to sleep with." Greg tossed the last few items in the bag, and zipped it up. "And why do we specifically have to go?" He was whining, and he knew it, but he didn't care. "Can't they send people from days?" She shot him a tired look, and snatched Greg's chess team hoodie from the bed, and stuffed it in her own duffel bag.
"They always send Eliot Harper and Ella Andrews, but Eliot is away on family leave and Ella is on a hot case." She sighed heavily, and rolled her eyes as he pushed their bags off the bed, and stretched out on his side, laying irresistibly on the comforter, a look on his face that dared her to cuddle up with him, a sparkle in his eye that pleaded her for a few minutes alone together before they had to catch their flight to Kansas.
"Gregory." She lowered her voice to that soothing tone she used when she wanted him.
"Mmmhmm." He turned onto his side, and threw her a lopsided grin that reminded her of the quirky, zany lab rat he used to be, cleverly hidden under the more grown up, deadly serious CSI level one that was currently pleading her to come back to bed, even though she had spent forty minutes trying to halfheartedly get away from his incessant need to cuddle earlier that morning. "Five minutes, Sara." He mumbled into the pillow softly. "Five minutes never hurt anyone."
"The plane, Greg."
"Leaves in four hours, from the airport twenty minutes away. Come be lethargic with me for five minutes." Sara caved in, just like Greg knew she would. She kicked off her shoes, and climbed over to his side. Greg cuddled into her side, slipping an arm around the small of her back, laying his other around her middle. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, where it rested on her shoulder, cradling his shoulders, and tangling her legs into his.
"We should be on the way to the airport."
"We can't do this in the airport."
"Greg, I-"
"I just missed you."
"I was standing three feet away."
"That was too far for me." Sara laughed at him as he rolled on top of her, and pressed his lips gently to hers. Slowly, he pried open her lips, his tongue running along the part in her lips, asking permission, and not waiting for an answer as he deepened his kiss, slow, even pressure turned to frantic kisses, still gentle. Sara's fingers went instinctively to the nape of his neck, and she pushed her hips against his. Greg dropped gentle kisses on the side of her neck, the underside of her jaw, against her throat, vibrating as she laughed, and spoke.
"Is this close enough, Mr. Sanders?" She giggled as she felt him nod against her neck. Greg lay still on top of her, and she smiled with the comfort of his body heat and weight. Her arms encircled his shoulders, and she kissed his temple softly.
"I just wanted to make sure you knew I loved you."
"I got that, thanks."
"Sara Jane, don't be mean."
"I love you too, Gregory."
"That's better."
"Mmmgerroff me, we have a plane to catch." Sara gently pushed at Greg's chest, and he rolled off her, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He reached for his sneakers than had been discarded on the floor, and shot her a grin.
"I love it when you boss me around."
"That's fortunate, because it's my job to boss you around."
"You like it." His tone was jovial, and she rolled her eyes, pulling on her own shoes on the other side of the bed.
"You're crazy."
"Aha! You are dating a crazy person." Greg lifted his bag over his shoulder, and stood at the door of her bedroom, grinning madly at her. She tried to walk past him, but he caught her in another kiss.
"Greg, the plane."
"What about it."
"We have to get on it."
"Fine, fine." He let her go, and followed her out of the apartment, but beating her to the keys, snatching them from the bowl at the door. "I want to drive."
"Fine, fine." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and made her way to his Denali, parked beside her own.
The four-day convention in Wichita had, in it's invitation, requested CSI mentoring pairs, as the main theme of this year's convention concentrate on building a trusting relationship between the teacher and the student. Since Ecklie could not decline sending a pair to Kansas, on grounds that his lab's best mentoring pair had numerous kinds of relationships aside from a trusting one, he was obliged to send Greg and Sara to Wichita for the convention.
That was fine with Sara and Greg. Sara had managed to escape conventions like these since her days in San Francisco and was due, and Greg had never been to a CSI convention, having just been promoted in the last year. This, of course, made Greg act like a small child on a pilgrimage to Chuck E. Cheese, mainly because he had no concept of how boring and useless such events tended to be.
However, complying with Ecklie's request had gotten them three days together, no criminals, no cases, and a hotel room in Kansas. This, of course, also made Greg excited, and he thought that being sent to this convention with Sara was equitable to being given the keys to the mustang and having the hotel room already paid for on prom night. All that workshop bullshit aside, this was going to be like a four-day vacation, and he, for one, was looking forward to the formal dinner on the last night.
Sara had packed that dress.
The dress she'd only worn twice.
The dress that ended up on the floor both times.
The black one.
He loved the black one.
…………
En route to the airport, Sara's fingers had found Greg's, and the ride and the wait at the airport had passed with ease, as well as the wait to board, and the flight. Sara hadn't let go of Greg's hand the whole way, and he was amused at the tinge of pink that arose from her cheeks when they walked to the gate, as he swung their clasped hands childishly between them.
To passersby at the airport, they looked like a happy couple returning home after eloping in Vegas. Greg and Sara both chose to play the part of the happy couple, pocketing their IDs and trying to forget their destination with a pack of cards, two cups of coffee, and a light and friendly banter full of dirty references; at least on Greg's part, anyway.
…………
Twenty-seven minutes into the first session at the convention, Greg found himself making a number of observations. First, Sara's hair was curly, and he decided approximately twelve minutes ago that curly hair was really, really pretty. Second, he decided that he and Sara, as mentor and student, were way better off than the pairs around them, and could probably give the lecture on how to communicate in your "learning partnership." Of course his answer would be just to make sure that you and your mentor never went to bed angry, and that you always allotted enough time for make up sex. Definitely not the solutions they were discussing presently. Lastly, with a quick scan around him, he sensed an obscene amount of tension seething off the other sixty people in the room.
Greg was not listening to the lecturer. He had come to the conclusion that conventions were useless, and that next time Ecklie needed to send Ella and Eliot, they would surely have benefited from this more than he and Sara. He glanced over at her, and let a bemused smile creep over his face, realizing she had stoically fallen asleep beside him, posture attentive, but eyes closed. They were seated further back in the small crowd, but Greg felt that in a room full of professional investigators, at least the ones around them would have noticed the sleeping woman beside him.
Sara's legs were crossed, one thigh draped over the other, in a professional manner. Her foot, however, had hooked itself around his calf. It had, until minutes ago, been seductively lulling him into a daze rhythmically rubbing up and down his calf. He tried stepping on her foot, but she didn't stir. Glancing around, seeing that everyone else was attentively nodding to the points the drone of a lecturer was making, Greg laid his palm gently on Sara's knee, and squeezed gently.
"Sara." She felt a light but intimate pressure on her knee, and opened her eyes suddenly, the conference room in Wichita coming back into focus. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Greg, hand still on her knee, with a smug grin playing at his lips.
"Was not asleep."
"Shh. Pay attention." Greg slipped his hand away from her knee before anyone noticed. Sara turned her head slightly to look him over, keenly feeling the loss of his hand on her knee. She saw him grin as she blew out an exasperated, frustrated, bored to death sigh, and she tried to focus on whatever it was that this ridiculous woman before them was talking about.
Greg smiled to himself. At least he wasn't the one that had fallen asleep, if their roles had been reversed, she wouldn't have ever let him live it down. He had lasted twenty-seven minutes before allowing his mind to wander. That must be a record, because this woman standing before him was painfully dry and useless.
The first day of the convention wasn't terrible, despite Sara occasionally nodding off, and Greg's quest for new and interesting ways to rouse her from her sleep. The second day brought with it a psychiatrist specializing in relationships. It was when the well-intentioned doctor broke out the yoga mats, and Sara and Greg had no choice but to comply with her instructions to sit on the mat facing each other that the two of them lost it, unable to remain on task in any way shape or form.
It was the third day that things got interesting, and Greg decided he really did like conventions.
…………
TBC- meant for this to be a one-chap deal like most of the others, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans…