Title: Dreamers on the Rise
Author: Cropper
Pairing: GSR
Rating: Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations
Disclaimer: See Prologue
A/N: Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.
Summary: "The air thin and pure, danger near, and the spirit full of gay sarcasm: these go well together." Also Sprach Zarathustra Freidrich Nietzsche
Chapter Four
There Was A Crimson Clash Of War
There was a crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this?"
Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such an intricate clatter of tongues,
That still the reason was not.
Stephen Crane
"Jesus said, 'I have cast fire upon the world, and see, I am guarding it until it blazes'."
The Gospel of Thomas (10)
I am the fire, the Holy flame. I blaze suddenly over all the earth, consuming all that you are, your vile wickedness, your vain egoism, leaving only sodden piles of smoldering ash and worthless rubble. It is all that is left of you, and all that there shall be. I tickle delightedly at your ponderous feet as you shuffle along, lapping greedily at your loathsome flesh as you toil for One who cares not. Whiter, hotter I flare in my omnipotence, flaring higher, ever higher, as you screech to Him who can no longer save you. You scream for mercy from He who can no longer hear. You pray for salvation from He who can no longer heed your piteous wails. He is no more. He is dead.
I am the fire, the Holy flame. I have spewed forth my heat, vaporizing all that lies in my path of creation. I have laughingly destroyed your neon temples and gilt-edged chapels. Your altars cannot withstand my wrath and melt beneath the scorching glare of my wrath. He to whom you have built these hideous walls, He to whom you have sanctified your meaningless souls in hope of redemption is gone. He is no more. He is dead.
I am the fire, the Holy flame. Embrace my glory, feel my power flicker violently in your mind. I am He, I am the One. I am your salvation, your only hope.
Red Lion has come.
Fear me.
Sara and Nick exited the courthouse. They had done all they could do inside. If anything probative or incriminating existed, other than the strange note they had found carefully encased in a sandwich bag and thoughtfully pinned to the outer doorframe, it had burned to ash in the white-hot conflagration. Sara's eyes were lowered while she checked her voice mail, hoping for a message from Grissom while Nick yammered non-stop in her ear. He was going on about the hot babe he was supposed to meet for drinks that evening, if he could slip away from Catherine's evil clutches. Sara smirked gleefully at the comment, momentarily imagining Catherine as some great hoary beast with long, curving claws and piercing yellowed fangs. Nick returned her grin and Sara glanced away, stopping dead in her tracks as something caught her attention. Nick followed her gaze and his smiled broadened.
"I'm going on ahead," he started, obvious amusement in his voice, "to get this stuff logged in. I'll see you when I see you."
His words barely registered as Sara drank her fill of the sight that had her so distracted, so thoroughly enchanted. Grissom. He was standing next to a police cruiser involved in a serious conversation with Brass. He looked good, too good. He had lost a little weight and needed a haircut but to her starving gaze he was a welcome oasis in the middle of a vast desert of loneliness. She could not wait to tangle her fingers in the thick curls now fringing his sun-bronzed nape. He had apparently spent a considerable amount of time outside while he was away. They had been apart for three weeks and five days, which was three weeks and four days too long as far as she was concerned.
Without warning, Grissom's attention swiftly shifted from Brass, as if he had somehow felt her openly devouring him. Their eyes locked and the charge of energy that swiftly sliced the air between them was as potent and powerful and brightly shocking as any bolt of jagged ground lightning.
Brass fanned himself with his notebook with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. "Wow. Must be menopause."
The look Grissom shot him was priceless, one part vast confusion, one part total incredulity.
Brass just shrugged. "That was one hell of a hot flash."
Grissom looked at him blankly, a bit chagrined at being so blatant at a scene. While there was nothing secretive about his relationship with Sara, both were determined to maintain an air of decorum and absolute professionalism while at work. Obviously, they had just failed miserably.
"Go on," Brass told him gently. "We can finish this later."
Grissom nodded his thanks and walked gingerly his Denali, motioning with a small twitch of his left hand for Sara to join him. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him favoring his left knee, making a mental note to ask him if he was merely tired or if something more significant was going on. She met him at the rear of the truck, stowed her kit and slammed the hatch before turning to face him. For several long, timeless moments, they just looked, absorbing the sight of the other after such a long separation.
Grissom broke the spell with a smirk. "I assume you'd like to drive?"
Sara grinned, more than willing to indulge in a little saucy innuendo. "Oh, yeah," she drawled, "big time. And I'm going to go slow, very slow. I want to savor every moment."
Grissom bit back a smile, delighted with their banter. He handed her the keys and was preparing to move to the passenger side of the truck when he paused, trembled a single finger down the silky skin of her cheek and whispered, "I missed you."
Sara's throat tightened, awash with emotion from that one tiny touch. Before he could move, she grabbed him, twined her long elegant arms around his sturdy neck and pulled him to her. He resisted for just an instant, aware that they were stomping heedlessly all over the lines they had drawn for themselves, but the need to feel her, to touch her, was overpowering. He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms firmly about her waist to hold her tighter. She nuzzled his neck in appreciation of his secure grip and her nostrils flared as she detected the potent aroma of something primitive and bestial lurking beneath the unfamiliar perfume of hotel soap and laundromat soap powder.
Grissom was aroused, very aroused. The essence of pure desire, absolute lust, was rolling off of him in waves. Sara's body awakened instantly to the relentless and unexpected onslaught of pheromones, excitement spiraling downward to nest heavily between her thighs. She could feel her panties grow damp as her hunger for the man in her arms grew with every panting breath. He felt her shudder and reluctantly pulled away, swatting her playfully on the ass as he removed his arms.
"Come on. We have to get to work," he sighed.
The drive back to the lab was quiet, neither particularly interested in talking. Grissom had engulfed Sara's right hand in his as soon as she had the truck in gear and was lazily swiping his thumb across her knuckles as she drove. Maneuvering the large vehicle one-handed was a bit of a challenge, but Sara was unwilling to shatter the renewed physical bond. It was a small gesture on his part, this simple handholding, but it spoke volumes to Sara. He really had missed her.
She cleared her throat and broke the comfortable silence. "How come you didn't tell me you were coming home today?"
"I didn't know myself until this morning." He ducked his head shyly, the child within peeking out for a moment. "I wanted to surprise you," he said timidly.
She glanced at him and shot him a high-wattage, mega volt smile. "It's the best surprise I've had in a long, long time," she told him, watching the corners of his mouth lift with boyish pleasure. On the outside he was a supremely confident and, at this particular moment, exceedingly horny man. Yet on the inside he was still very much a hesitant five-year-old who wanted nothing more than to make her happy. Sara was still occasionally startled by the vast dichotomy between public and private Grissom and supremely thankful that he trusted and loved her so much that he was willing to share the frightened, abused child that still hid within his soul. He was, and always would be, her very precious man-child.
She pulled into the parking lot at the lab and awkwardly cut the ignition with her left hand. As Grissom attempted to disentangle their fingers and unsnap his seat belt, Sara grasped his hand tighter and leaned towards him, fitting her lips to his. She had meant for the kiss to be a simple peck but when Grissom was unable to stifle a small growl that grumbled helplessly from the back of his throat, she grabbed those newly grown curls on his neck and increased the pressure, desperately striving to get closer. His mouth opened and Sara gratefully accepted the invitation to slip inside for a more thorough exploration. Time seemed to stand still while their tongues tangled furiously and smeared sacred promises of more, much more.
They were both breathing heavily and a little flushed when Grissom shifted away. "Umm…," he began, his voice a little strained. "Work?"
"Yeah, if we have to," she grumbled.
The Graveyard Shift was assembled in the conference room, each member waiting impatiently with a pile of folders and evidence bags. Catherine was pacing nervously, certain that she was about to be fired while the rest fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats. They all looked up in shock as Grissom lumbered through the door carrying a cup of coffee and handful of files.
"Finally," Greg muttered to Nick, glancing around to make sure Catherine was not listening.
"Yeah," replied Nick, equally softly. "God is in His heaven and all is right with the world."
Grissom took his seat next to Sara and was beginning to speak when Catherine spoke up.
"Well, well, well, the prodigal returneth. And with a nice tan, too. Did you enjoy your extended boondoggle while the rest of us were here working our fingers to the bone?" she snipped.
Grissom ignored her and got down to business. "Okay, what do we have? Just give me the Reader's Digest version for now. I will go over all of the details myself once I have a better understanding of what has been happening."
The team took turns piecing together the events that had the city up in arms. Over the past nine days there had been three kidnappings, three arsons and two murders. If they did not come up with something, anything, quickly, the third body, that of Judge Simmons, would appear sometime tomorrow. They had no real leads, nothing probative evidence-wise except for the coffee cup with Cephas' DNA.
"Cephas?" Grissom asked. "Who's Cephas?"
"Officer J. J. Cephas," supplied Warrick. "He's some new hot shot cop. Been working with Brass a lot lately. Brass is supposed to confront him with the DNA evidence when he comes on duty tonight."
Grissom nodded and motioned for them to continue their story. All three victims had been taken from public venues and they did not have any apparent connection to the other. The first victim, Dr. Jonas Garrish, was a philosophy professor and WLVU. The second, Reverend Michael Hubbell, was an Episcopalian minister. The third was Judge Simmons. All of the fires had been set in the victim's offices. Notes from the killer were found at each and every scene, a total of eight thus far. The perp seemed to be highly intelligent, brazen and enjoying himself far too much.
The conversation died down and Grissom looked around the room, his eyebrows raised. "That's it?"
"You asked for the condensed version and that's what you got," replied Catherine.
"Fine," he said. "Thank you." He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before continuing. "Catherine, Warrick, Greg, Nick? I want you all to get lost. Go home, get some sleep, have a decent meal, relax a little. Unless something major breaks I don't want to see your faces again until the start of shift." He scooped up his files and headed for the door as the others scrambled to collect their things and leave before something happened to change his mind.
Sara took her time. She hadn't been told to leave. Greg sidled over to whisper conspiratorially, "I see that you weren't sent home. Does that mean that Papa Bear and Mama Bear will be taking their time off together to practice making little baby bears?" A lascivious wiggle of eyebrows accompanied his remark.
Sara just smiled serenely, not giving an inch.
Greg, however, was not quite ready to let the topic fade. "Sara, I gotta know. What's Grissom got that I don't?"
She pretended to think, one long finger tapping against her lip, as she let Greg's discomfort grow. "Remember Greg, I've seen you naked," she drawled, pausing for a long delicious moment. "Let's just say that you're not even half the man that Grissom is."
Greg's eyes widened as the realization of what she was saying slowing seeped into his brain. "Hey," he spluttered helplessly, "you can't count that as a true measure of things. That water was cold!"
"Go home, Greg," she laughed and sauntered off down the hall, thinking that Greg would absolutely die if he ever discovered the truth. He would never hear the words cross her lips, she would never betray Grissom like that but it would almost be worth it just to see Greg's reaction. She flashed back to Grissom's heart breaking revelation, one that had occurred a scant couple of months ago and one that, despite the intense emotional turmoil it had caused, had finally freed Grissom and given him the added courage he so desperately needed to move forward a little more and let another chapter of his painful past finally die….
After another intimate encounter where she had once again fallen victim to Grissom's total adoration of her body, Sara lay basking in the sweet aftermath, utterly replete and blissfully satisfied. She was sprawled atop Grissom's bare chest, absently caressing the warm skin over his heart while nuzzling the salty tang of his neck. She knew that she should be at peace; he had just rocked her world four times and she barely had the strength to lift her head. However, despite the sensual joys they had just shared, Sara was troubled.
"Gris?"
"Hmmm?" His response was as lazy as the fluttering swipes of his fingers down her spine.
"Are you saving yourself for marriage?"
Sara had tried to keep her tone light and joking but felt his entire body stiffen. His jaw worked frantically as he attempted to formulate some type of appropriate response. When none was immediately forthcoming, Sara took a deep breath and plunged on into the deep, turbulent water.
"I'm just curious…what are you waiting for? Do you need an engraved invitation?"
Grissom's hand fell to the mattress with a soft thud and he sighed heavily. He had known this moment would come, sooner or later, and had no idea how to handle the situation. Sara rose up to straddle his waist and look him in the eye.
"Why won't you make love to me?"
She grimaced as she watched the pain and confusion race across his features. His tone was quiet, voice carefully controlled, when he finally spoke. "I thought I was. Am I doing something wrong?"
Sara heard the apprehension and self-doubt creep into his words despite his efforts to squelch them, and hastened to salve his seemingly bruised male ego. "No, no, Grissom. You are doing everything just right. Trust me. I am a very, very happy woman right now," she cooed.
"But..." he warily prompted, knowing that she had much more to say and not really wanting to broach the subject.
"But...I'm just wondering when you're going to get around to officially consummating things. You haven't let me touch you since the first time and you won't even let me see you naked any more. What's the problem?"
Grissom chewed his bottom lip uncertainly and closed his eyes. There is no way he could even begin to embark upon this conversation if he had to look at her. "Nothing. There's no...problem."
"Then what's going on, Gris? Is it me?"
Grissom gently extracted himself from the loving tangle of her long, satiny limbs and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed with his head bowed and shoulders slumped miserably. "It's not you, Sara. Never think that."
"Well, if it isn't me..."
"It's not that, either," he hurriedly retorted.
"Okay," Sara began, seamlessly slipping into full investigator mode, "it's not me and has nothing to do with you being physically incapable or incapacitated. I'm more than ready and, from what I've seen and felt, you're very interested as well. Am I right?"
Grissom slowly nodded in agreement.
"Grissom?" she gently prodded.
"You're the first..." he started hesitantly. He was unsure as to how he should continue. He had never attempted to tell anyone before, had never been in a position where he had to tell anyone before. He had never, ever, been in this particular place in his entire life. Sara certainly deserved an answer but he just did not know how to tell her.
Sara made a soft sound of encouragement, willing him to continue. She knew without a doubt that something huge was about to happen.
Eyes still firmly fixed on the floor, Grissom tried again. "You're the first woman...who ever let me…touch her...like that...the first woman...who ever wanted me to…touch her...like that," he stammered helplessly, blushing brighter with every word.
Sara was genuinely perplexed. "What are you trying to tell me here?"
There was nothing left for him to do but just spit out the awful truth and deal with whatever amount of ridicule Sara saw fit to toss his way. He would not blame her or think unkindly of her. Hell, he was certain that if their roles were reversed, he would probably let loose with a snicker or two of his own. "I can't because I don't know how," he finally said, his quietly uttered admission filled with sorrow and shame.
"What do you mean, you don't know how?" Sara cried, completely confused. "It's a basic biological imperative, Grissom. You put the round peg in the round hole and push. It's not that complicated."
"You don't understand!" His voice cracked with pain and frustration. "I've never..."
His words trailed off into nothingness and the ensuing silence thundered in the awesome hush that had quickly shrouded the room like a sodden wool blanket. Sara was too stunned to speak. Of all the myriad of things Grissom could have said, his revelation was totally unexpected. The man was fifty-years-old and still a virgin? Wow! If he had confessed that he was a closet, cross-dressing transvestite complete with fishnet stockings, falsies, pasties, and banging Ecklie on the side she would have been less shocked. A virgin. A supremely hot, sinfully sexy, fifty-year-old virgin. Wow!
As the unbelievable truth slowly began to sink in, Sara finally looked at Grissom. He was still sitting hunched on the edge of the bed and she could see the tension literally pulsating along his slumped spine. She knew that he was waiting for some sort of reaction and had steeled himself against an impending rejection. He fully expected for her to leap out of their bed and run for the door now that she knew one of his deepest, darkest secrets. Sara's mind was racing as she searched for some way to diffuse the delicate situation. She was dealing with much, much more than a straightforward case of injured male pride.
She slowly eased over to him and leaned upon his back, her arms sliding around his chest in a firm, loving grip. She craned her neck to quietly whisper in his ear, "Those other women, whoever they are, are idiots. They have no idea what they missed out on." She received no discernible response but continued her words of comfort. "Grissom? I have never, ever, had a more gentle or considerate lover. You're doing just fine, baby. What are you so afraid of?"
Grissom just shook his head, unable to speak. Something he had said earlier, about never getting this far with a woman, was tickling her brain. Her curiosity was piqued and she had to ask. Besides, it might make him open up a little and make this whole conversation easier for him to handle.
"Gris? You said that you've never touched a woman intimately before. How did you know what to do with me?"
"I...research. I wanted to know...in case…you were ever...interested...in doing...things...like that...with me. And...you showed me."
"Has anyone else ever touched you?"
"Besides me?" he choked out, thoroughly ashamed and humiliated. He shook his head, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards.
"Did you enjoy it when I touched you? Did it feel good when I made you come?"
He shivered a little at the memory of her cool fingers and hot mouth sliding along his erection and dumbly nodded his answer.
"Do you enjoy touching me?" She received another emphatic nod. "I love it when you touch me, Grissom," she all but purred, "and I love touching you as well. I want to touch you, baby. Can you understand that? I want to touch you just as much as you want to touch me. I want to make you feel as wonderful and as beautiful and as loved as you make me feel."
"I...I..."
"What, baby? What's wrong? You've gotta talk to me, Gris."
"I...I'm fine until...we get to that point. Then..."
Sara released her arms from around his chest and started rubbing his back, her hand swirling in soothing, calming circles.
"Sara, you barely touched me and I lost it. There's no way I can...last."
"So what? You fire early a couple of times. What's the big deal?"
His tortured sigh was full of anguish and torment. "I don't want to disappoint you. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be a great, or even decent, lover. You deserve so much more than that. I should at least have enough control to...satisfy you. All my life, Sara, I have never been enough. I have always turned out to be a huge disappointment and everyone has always left me. I don't want to be alone anymore. I can't..."
Tears slid down Sara's cheeks as she listened to Grissom's lonely confession. Those frightened, whispered words explained so much. She did not need the details, did not want to know the details. She could not arrest time to right the wrongs and bitch slap those who had shattered his fragile heart. All she could do was love him and try to convince him that something as insignificant as a perceived failure in bed was not going to make her leave.
"Grissom, listen to me. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, baby. You're not going to get rid of me that easily. C'mere."
Sara gently maneuvered Grissom back into bed and into her welcoming embrace. She nestled his head between her breasts, absorbing his silent tears with her skin, her heart, her soul. She held him close, gently raking her fingers through his hair, before breaking the fragile silence and carefully speaking again.
"As far as all of this is concerned, you just need to get used to the feel of my hands instead of yours. Truth be told, the emotional connection, the care and selflessness you show when we make love, means so much more to me than just the physical gratification. Don't get me wrong the orgasms are wonderful. You make me feel things I've never felt before and I wouldn't trade a minute of rolling around in bed with you for anything in the world. The rest of it? It's so not a big deal and I'm in no hurry. It'll happen, baby, all in good time."
"Sara? Too."
TO BE CONTINUED...