The Unburdening
Author: subobscura
Rating: M, for sexual situations. I'm not your mother, hell I'm not that much older than you and I read this stuff when I was your age. But please, if you're younger than 17 and reading this, make sure I don't know about it.
See first chapter for full headers.
A/N: Okay, okay. So I suck, and have been on an almost month-long hiatus. Well, I'm back. This chapter gave me fits, because I couldn't figure out where Greg and Sara wanted this to go. And real life intervened for a bit. Then Ren & Stimpy and Buddy Guy helped me out with some inspiration. Yes. You heard me correctly. Rating has gone up. I was going to name this 'Greg and Sara get...'Well, nevermind. That would be crass. But you'll see. Oh, the chapter title is from a new release by Buddy Guy, of the same name. Check it out.
"I've Got Dreams to Remember"
Greg sat up in bed that night, chest heaving, pulling in great sucks of air like a drowning man. He could still feel the creeping thing drawing closer, pushing behind him, lurking in the shadows. It had been upon him, almost, but Greg couldn't remember what it was. Just that it had stolen all the light.
At some point, he had stripped off his undershirt, though now he felt cool and damp. He struggled out of the covers and groped blindly for it in the now pitch dark. His side of the bed was in shambles. Apparently, Greg had put up a good fight, though it looked as if the comforter was the victor. He was almost surprised to see Sara there, sleeping on as though all was peace in the world, though he wasn't sure how that was possible.
She lay on her stomach, facing away from him toward the window, where orange light from the street-lamps was now beginning to reach around the curtains. They had migrated away from each other during sleep, each preferring the autonomy afforded by staking out territory on his large mattress. Sara had still ended up with almost two thirds of the bed, using her long limbs to her advantage. Greg spared her one last glance, before heading to the bathroom. Technically, shift didn't start for another six hours, but Greg was done with sleep.
Standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, he ran a hand through his sweat slick hair. His gel had given up, and the waves were now more pronounced. He looked hollow-eyed. He splashed some water on his face, and then groped in the medicine cabinet for some Tylenol, wincing when the bottle fell into the sink, rattling around and spilling some white pills in protest, some of which headed down the drain. Greg picked out two and slid the rest of the survivors back in the bottle. He swallowed them with a mouthful of water from the tap.
Pulling the bedroom door closed behind him with a soft snick, Greg went to the coffee table in the living room and scooped up the case file, which had grown thick in the past week. John Doe 83, aged 8 years, laying on the autopsy table with shocking black ligature marks around his neck, stared back him with a baleful, accusing expression. Who needed sleep when they had this to wake up to, Greg thought with a grim smile.
He pulled out three day old General Tso's surprise, and sat down at the table to review the trace evidence that had just started rolling in from their scene a week ago.
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Sara found him 45 minutes later asleep on top of Beierman's Pedophilia: Biosocial Demensions slumped in one of the stools of his pub set. One of the ear buds of his iPod had slipped out, and Sara could hear tinny blues leaking out. Over in the living room, the television was set low, with some kind of rat thing talking to some kind of cat/ squirrel thing.
"Steeeeeeeeempy," the rat thing was saying. "What would I eeever do without you, man?"
"Oh Ren," the squat replied.
Sara just rolled her eyes. She walked over to the set and turned it off. Moments like these made her wonder why she was contemplating dating an adolescent. Greg stirred behind her and rubbed his eyes.
"Hey, I was watching that paragon of cinematic virtue," he said.
"Sure, Greg. Just like you were making vast headway on our case, there. You, um, drooled a little, right there," she said pointing at a spot on her face. Greg swiped at his chin, and finding nothing, turned fully to scowl at her 10 ft. away.
"Liar."
"Maybe." She looked at him. In the half-light from the fixture above his stove, with his irregular features and wavy hair, the boy-man looked impossibly handsome. "What you going to do about it, Mr. Sanders?"
A familiar gleam came into Greg's eyes. He recognized an invitation to play when he heard one. He stood and started stalking towards her, feigning stealth. Sara for her part, stood her ground. She looked him over, recalling an awkward shower scene, and now reveled in the opportunity to openly stare at his bare legs. Her gaze traveled up those long legs to his basketball shorts to his slim torso and swimmers shoulders outlined in a plain white undershirt. She was almost surprised when he pounced on her, grinning because he had noticed her staring.
She squealed when he started tickling her, then laughed out loud. He bent his head to her exposed neck and nipped her lightly before giving her a sloppy lick, then ran his stubble along the afflicted area. He threw his arms around her waist to keep her still. Her laughter shifted to a drawn out moan.
"Oooh," he said, "I think Sara Sidle likes me."
"Shut up, Greg. Do you want to go to bed?"
"What? But we just came from there," he said with a puzzled frown. "Oh. Oh. Well, then, m'lady, follow me." They walked back into the bedroom arm in arm.
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They stood facing each other, slashed by the light pooling in stripes from between the venetian blinds. Greg had opened the drapes and the window to let the cool, dry desert wind sweep in around them.
Greg hesitated, brought a hand to her face, and said, "I have to ask, Sara. Are you sure? 'Cause after this you're stuck with me."
She looked at him then. Remembered the boy he had been dancing and head banging around his lab. Recalled his multicolored shirts, his ever evolving hairstyles, his grand lectures on pop music. Saw in her minds eye facing him over results and facing off in arguments, relived him wincing away from a carelessly placed hand on his shoulder the week after he got back from medical leave and remembered his strong embrace after a marathon, after he passed his pre-lims. She smiled warmly, and realized she had grown up with him as much as he had her. "I'm sure Greg," she said with no hesitation. "It's time."
"Okay," he said, and stepped into her kiss. Without shoes, he was slightly taller than her, and angled his lips down to meet hers. He pulled her to him with one arm around her waist and the other buried in her hair. It wasn't like he expected, this truly intimate kiss, like tides crashing, but like rain on glass. Graceful, tentative, and so soft. His heart expanded and he held the universe in his arms.
She backed up and he followed, until her knees hit the back of the bed. Breaking their embrace, she reached around him and pulled up his tee-shirt while he helped by lifting his arms. Then he reached out to her and she noticed his hands were shaking. She caught them in her own. "Greg," she said and his heart faltered. "Greg," she repeated and he looked into her eyes. "Relax." He breathed in through his nose once, twice, and then was calm. Instead of replying he reached around her and pulled up her/ his tee-shirt. Then he untied her sweats and because they were big on her, they pooled to her ankles. He marveled at his marble beauty, his Venus de Milo come to life.
He stared at her, traveling from her brunette curls tousled from sleep, to her round firm breasts that still sat high on her chest to her slim waist and the small triangle of hair that marked the apex of her legs that wet on forever to her feet whose toenails were painted with silver.
"God, Sara" he said, placing a hand over her heart. "You're gorgeous," he let out on a breath. "Just like I knew you would be, only better."
She flushed and looked away. Then she looked back, into his hazel eyes. "Greg, make love with me, please. I've wanted you for so long, now."
He gently lowered her onto the bed, and fell beside her in a cloud of down comforter. Lifting up on one elbow, he gazed down at her from above. He ran a finger from the hollow of her throat down her sternum to circle her navel before tracing the soft skin of her groin. "Open your legs for me, dear one. I want to see everything." She slowly complied, letting her knees fall open. Her eyes were closed, and he could see her chest rising and falling in easy breaths.
Deciding he needed a different angle, Greg quickly shucked off his shorts and then crawled to kneel between her legs. Her breaths were coming faster now, feeling his movements. Ever so slowly, he lowered himself on top of her, keeping his weight on his knees and elbows. Shifting to one arm, he ran his palm lightly over one nipple, then the other, teasing them to hardness. Then he fully cupped one breast in his hand before pinching with just a little pressure. He moved to take the other in his mouth, laving his tongue over the bud before sucking and ending with a little nip. Sweet. Sara moaned, and he was delighted to find she was sensitive to foreplay. He continued on this way for some minutes, detouring to pepper kisses on her collar bones, her sternum, her stomach.
Gliding his hands down her belly, he dipped his thumb in her belly button and she smiled. She jumped when he lightly traced his fingertips over the terrain he just covered.
"Sorry," she said, squinching up her nose. "Ticklish."
"Good to know," he replied.
"Greg," she whined. "You're so evil."
"Damn straight," he said. "I'm going to do evil, evil things to youmph." The last part was cut off now that he was back to kissing her, this time marking a trail up her inner thigh. Sara smiled but tensed as she felt him approaching her sex. Instead of his tongue then, she felt his finger lightly brush her folds before parting them. Then he used the flat of his palm to massage her with firm pressure. She moaned and arched a little off the bed. He dipped his fingers near her opening before running them up to her clit to circle the bud once, twice.
"Wow, Sara, you're so wet for me, already." He smiled a bright grin at her. "You have no idea how much that turns me on." He reached for her hand and brought it to his hot, silken erection.
Sara opened her eyes, and saw that heartbreakingly familiar expression and felt him in her hand. This was Greg Sanders making her feel wanton, so incredibly beautiful. And then she saw his gaze as he continued to give her pleasure, his intense concentration like she was his most valuable piece of evidence, his happiness as she moaned and writhed beneath him. He slipped one, then two fingers into her and started a slow rhythm, stretching her so she would be ready for him. Her legs fell fully apart and she didn't care that she seemed to have lost all restraint. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, his Helen for whom the Greeks wept, and she could see this in his clear shining gaze.
"God, Greg," she let out on a half sob. "Please now. Please, I want you now."
Greg, feeling she was ready, opened the drawer to his nightstand and brought out a condom and some lube.
"Let me," she said. She sheathed him and applied the lube before pumping him slowly. Greg bit his arm and groaned to which she only smiled.
Then he knelt between her legs once more, and without hesitation, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed slowly in. They both gasped, and then he was all the way in and then they were skin to skin together with her legs wrapped around his waist finally. She circled her arms around his smooth neck and put her hands on his back feeling the spiderweb-fine scars that she had barely seen before and held onto him feeling full so full and tight and let his heat seep into her. They were together, and he asked, "Are you okay?" and then he kissed her hard and deep and when he let go she nodded into his neck feeling his soft brown stubble. Then he pulled back and pushed in again and they were moving together in concert, a streetlight adagio.
"Sweet Sara, sweet Sara," he sighed. He leaned up to grant her room, and implored, "Touch yourself for me." Not thinking only acting she responded and moved her slender hand to pleasure herself while Greg moved in and out of her and one of his hands was back at her breast. And she rose higher and higher and higher while Greg stayed steady in her until finally at last she broke the surface of the waters splashing into the sunlight gasping for air and saying his name. Greg felt her life pulse and ripple around him and he thrust into her once twice three times a trinity to bless their union and gasped calling Sara Sara Sara. Joy bloomed fleetingly between them like desert flowers after the winter rains.
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Later, after they had calmed, Greg lay beside her, running a hand from breast to flank in steady long strokes, making her sleepy. The wind came through the window rattling the shade slightly, and traffic hummed by on the street below. Next door, the neighbors were watching "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" and the whole building smelled like stir-fry.
"That was beautiful," he said. "Like music to my soul."
"A high compliment from you," she responded but he could hear the warmth and gratitude in her voice.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," he said.
"And there goes the kodak moment."
"Hey, I have a manly reputation to protect."
"Ha!" She turned to him. "A tendency to overstate the facts. One of the many facets of your personality I love."
"You love me?"
Her gaze softened and she ran a hand down his face to cup his chin before kissing him. "Of course I do."
"Ha! I knew it! Sara Sidle loves me! For the record, I love you too."
They quieted and listened to the Vegas night wake up, falling into a light slumber and reveling in the heat radiating between them.
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Later, with his arm slung over her waist and breathing into her hair, Greg spoke into the dark. "I have a theory about the case. I think those boys weren't random. I think they're connected, and their murders have ritualistic overtones."
Sara sighed and turned to him. "No rest for the weary. Alright Greggo. I'm going to go take a shower. Alone," she added when she saw him perk up. "Make me some coffee, and we'll hash out this theory of yours."
"Well, they're not so much theories, as ideas. But you're the boss, boss."
A/N: And so ends our fourth chapter. I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment. Phew, is it warm in here? Read and review. This was written between the hours of three and five in the morning, so any errors are purely the result of a deluded mind. Sorry for the length, but this story just is what it is.