3. In Which Sara and Greg Attempt to Keep Their Hands to Themselves

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Greg flashed his mentor a lopsided grin as the elevator doors closed and they began their dissent to the ground floor for the dinner.

"We're late."

"Psst. Only a few minutes."

"Fifteen minutes, Greg." He retreated at her halfway irritated tone, leaning against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets, inwardly enjoying that little black dress. He loved how it only casually embraced her curves, leaving a hefty amount to the imagination, not that he needed it anyway, but showed just enough skin to contrast her pale complexion with the dark black fabric. The soft swell of her chest was held in a sophisticated manner that brought a smile to his lips. His eyes wandered lower, to the hemline of the skirt. It flaired just right, falling in soft waves around her calves, and silently swirled around her when she moved. The shoes she wore hurt her feet something terrible, but as far a Greg was concerned, nothing was sexier than a girl in a little black dress with little black heels. His girl.

"Don't look at me like that, Greg." He watched the hem of the skirt swivel around her legs as she turned to face him, and the doors opened. "We have to behave." He followed her out of the elevator, quickly catching up to walk beside her.

"Then you shouldn't have brought that dress." He whispered in her ear, pleased at the pink tinge in her cheeks.

"I like this dress."

"So do I. That's the trouble with it, isn't it?" He grinned cheekily at her and opened the door to the function room for her. He could make it. He was, after all, a fairly patient man. He had waited six years to kiss her, hadn't he? He could last an hour, hour and a half. Greg settled with touching the small of Sara's back, following her to a pair of seats empty at one of the tables where between the two plates there was a card that read "Las Vegas." He was glad to see they weren't the only ones late, as a few empty seats were being taken, and people were still filtering in through the doors.

"Vegas." Greg turned away from Sara, and smiled, taking the extended hand of the middle aged man beside him and shaking it. "I've heard all about you people. Tony Somerville, Philadelphia."

"Greg Sanders."

"We've heard about your lab out on the east coast."

"Yeah? Good things I hope."

"You guys have an amazing entomologist. Went to his last seminar in New York a few months back. Guy's a genius." Greg nodded, accepting the praise of Grissom's behalf. Tony's eyes set of Sara, who was talking to the mentor from San Fransisco, whom he vaguely remembered as a level one when he interned in their crime lab as an undergrad, but whom Sara seemed to know much better, from her years there after he had graduated. "Your mentor had some good things to say about you this afternoon."

"Yeah she said."

"It always amazes me when such pretty women are drawn to forensics."

"Looks are deceiving. She holds a Magna Cum Laude from Harvard in Physics. She's as much of a science geek as the rest of us." Greg leaned forward, blocking the view of Sara's curves from Mr. Philadelphia's eyesight. "So what's your specialty?"

………

Twenty minutes later, the coordinator of the convention was wrapping up a speech about the hope of learning partnerships and other such nonsense, that had followed a welcome by the director of the Wichita Crime Lab. Greg had laid his arm across the back of Sara's chair, turning slightly to pay polite attention to the formalities. He was content to sit back and pick at his food, occasionally stealing something from Sara's plate when she casually reached over and stabbed his broccoli, one by one. He was sure that this was somewhat less than professional, but this was the routine that he and Sara had fallen into years ago, and he had trouble remembering that they were at a convention with people who didn't know them.

Tony from Philly had tried to catch her into a conversation about mentoring, which he was sure would result in a pick up line. Greg sat politely at dinner, minding his own business, participating in conversation when talked to. What kept him somewhat more quiet than usual was the familiar foot that had snaked its way up the bottom of his pantleg, and was curling around his calf.

Sara had turned to Greg after politely deflecting Mr. Philly's after hours invite, taking a sip from her glass, settling against the back of the chair. He turned to her, and flashed her a grin.

"What?"

"What nothing."

"You're looking at me like that."

"Like what? I'm not looking at you like anything." A smile turned the corner of her mouth as he leaned in a few inches closer.

"I said I would behave." His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.

"You're good on your word."

"You aren't."

"You failed to specify that I needed to." She flashed him a grin, and set her glass down on the table. Greg rolled his eyes, slipping his arm away from the back of her chair. Women. She was going to be the death of them. Of him, especially.

"So, Vegas, how is it working with that wicked smaht bug guy?" Greg focused his attention on the question from the Boston level one, a quick witted blonde across the table. He grinned at Sara, asking permission with a look, and then proceeded to have the entire table in stitches with humorous anecdotes from his days in the lab, about Grissom.

The rest of the dinner passed quickly after that, and soon he was picking bites from Sara's dessert, as Sara talked about their most recent all nighter with a pig carcass, a topic that would have grossed out anyone but a CSI. Long after the dished had been cleared and the coffee had been finished, Sara and Greg bid their goodbyes, and made their way to the elevator.

Sara pressed the button, and wandered a few feet away, as Greg leaned against the wall near to elevator door. He was mesmorized by the gentle flow of her skirt, and was content to watch it.

"You're a wicked woman, Sidle." Greg shoved his hands in his pockets, watching his girlfriend smile innocently at him.

"Get in the elevator, Sanders."

The surveillance tape from the elevator would show nothing out of the ordinary, just a single kiss from a wavy haired, lanky man to his curly haired companion in one very sexy black dress.

Greg grinned boyishly as he felt Sara's hand slip into his own as they closed the distance to the hotel room door. He dug into his pocket, and handed her the card, which she swiped, and pushed the door open silently. He followed her in, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his converses as she tossed her heels into her duffel bag, and ran a hand through her hair. He silently unclasped her necklace for her, and pulled off his socks, coming to stand in front of her so that his bare toes were inches from hers.

Her arms slid around his waist gently, pulled his body flush with hers. He dipped his head and captured her lips with his own, laying a palm to her cheek to hold her against him. He felt her fingers along the small of his back, and settled his other palm against the nape of her neck, while his tongue asked permission for entrance. Her fingers had found their way to the front of his trousers, and were fumbling with the buckle of his belt lazily. He smiled against her kisses, and pulled away just enough to touch his forehead to hers.

"Let's dance." His whisper had caught her off guard, and she pulled back, eyebrow arched.

"What?" He cocked his head to the side, grinning at her.

"You know, dance." He snaked an arm around her waist, and took her left hand with his right. Sara pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and draped her free arm around his shoulders. He pulled her hips against his own, and soon they were swaying to the silence of their darkened hotel room. He led her casually through a handful of twirls, always pulling her back flush against his body.

"There's no music, Gregory." Sara whispered after a few minutes, from against his chest. His soft chuckle resonated through her body, settling in a warm familiar heat below her belly.

"It's ok to pretend, Sara Jane, even if you are an adult." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I can sing if you want." He offered after a few more moments. It was her laughter, that ran through his body like a phenomena something akin to being electrified, this time. She stood on the balls of her feet, and caught him in a searing kiss. As her fingers found the soft hair of the back of his neck, his fingers found the zipper to her dress, and for the third time, he managed to remove it and dispose of it on the floor, without wrinkling it.

Her fingers found the tie that he had loosened when they had stepped into the elevator earlier. She made quick work of the offending article of clothing from beneath his weight, and flung it across the room, watching it land on the floor, atop her little black dress. He sat up, straddling her, and began to unbutton the front of his shirt.

"I never wrinkle your fancy dress up clothes, Sara." She smiled at the hint of childish whining in his voice.

"Black ties are better on the floor, Gregory."

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A/N: still not done… almost. One more. (Then a fast forward featuring ThirdTrimester!Sara) thank, guys. I squeal with glee at every review. :grins madly: