"You know what I like about you?" Sara asked, folding a sweater neatly and placing it in the laundry basket. Grissom was seated on 'his' side of the bed, glasses on, skimming through some obscure entomological text with boyish interest. That always got to her, the way he was interested in everything. He glanced over it at her and delved back in. She loved these moments.

Sara sighed and chuckled lightly. "This is where you ask me 'why', Griss, in case you didn't know." It was said in jest and he took it as so, wetting his lips. It was nice that they were finally on the same page (the page that said 'happily ever after' with a set of ellipses to follow...)...

Placing his reading material down on the nightstand he glanced at her with a heart stopping grin and stop her heart it did. "If you say my charm, I might just get up and leave right now." They both knew he didn't really have anything that she could rightly call 'charm'.

Sara threw a pillowcase at him, feeling lovely fluttering in her stomach. It was amazing how that excitement never ceased. "No, you're weirder than I am," she reasoned. "And that's saying something."

"Thank you?" He replied, stretching out a bit, still in his boxers and white tee shirt, evening light barely managing to break through the barrier of the blinds.

"But other than that," she continued, taking the basket of neatly folded clothes and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

"You need just as little sleep as I do." She bent over and kissed him on the nose; it felt more precious than their lovemaking did.

Yawning and stretching, Grissom grabbed her hand as she was about to retreat. "That's a good thing?"

"'Course it is, leaves time for much more fun activities."

His eyes lit with a spark and he brought her down for an extremely languid kiss. Her eyes were still closed when she pulled back, a smug smile on her face. Sara felt, well, deep down inside she felt this wonderful sense of complete rightness with the world.

True, there were so many wrongs that needed to be righted, but at that particular moment, in that particular pocket of the world... she didn't care.

Love was this beautifully weighty thing, something that needed nurturing, careful attention and two very willing partners. She, for her part, was more than willing, more, more more than willing. There was simply nothing about the man in front of her, the insurmountable Gil Grissom... that she did not love.

Certainly, there were things that she didn't like about him. For one, he didn't enjoy the few television shows that she indulged in and he found rice to be a sixth food group. He also drove too fast, didn't enjoy the scent of peaches and found the color red to be particularly irksome... but she loved him.

And he loved her.

Strange as it was, they were perfect for each other in every dysfunctional way imaginable. "We need to get ready for work," he mumbled against her lips and upon hearing the words, she smacked her lips and pulled back.

"That we do," Sara said brightly and made her way to the bathroom.

Grissom bounded out of the bed (to the best of his ability) and followed her. "Hey," he protested, hands on his hips, "I get to go first, you take forever."

Sara was already out of her shirt, naked from the waist up. A glare was sent his way as she made her way over to the shower, placing her shampoo on the tub's ledge. "Yeah, okay," she huffed sarcastically.

"Please?" he asked. "Because I have to shave too," Grissom continued on.

But Sara just stared at him, considering his plea. The things she could do...

Suddenly she grabbed one of her dirty tank tops from the top of the hamper. "C'mere," and she kissed him again.

Dear god, she could not get enough of his lips, could not get enough. There was so much texture, so much variation in one kiss that she couldn't help stealing one at every turn. With her lips still against his, she spoke, "Let me shave you."

Grissom pulled back. "You want to... give me... a shave."

"Yes." Her eyes were serious and yet pleading.

"Okay," he finally said, a note of optimism residing in the topmost layer of his baritone. The grin that she gave him was arousing to say the least and he settled back against the wall so that she could pull his razor and shaving cream down from the shelf in the medicine cabinet. He watched her short movements, her meticulous methods as she puttered about before him.

He was still amazed that he had a shelf in her medicine cabinet; he mused on that for awhile.

When she was finally ready, she hopped up onto the sink, threw in the stopper and crooked an index finger at him. He went willingly to her, shedding his shirt on the way. His smile was low, somewhat shy as he stepped in between her legs, placing his hands on her hips.

"Trust me?" she asked as a precursor, filling the basin with warm water.

"Always, honey," he whispered back and waited for her to make a move.

Sara sat on the sink, legs abnormally, stunningly, gorgeously long in her pink, polka dot boy shorts. His eyes, much like his hands were naturally drawn to the smooth expanses of skin. She chuckled when his fingers squeezed the muscles at the top of her thighs.

With care tantamount to working with evidence, she squeezed some shaving cream onto her hand and smoothed it over his cheeks, taking a distinct pleasure in leaning in and delicately kissing him. He smiled against her lips and kissed her back slowly, deliberately. When they disengaged, she smiled, her lips and teeth capturing his gaze so she had the opportunity to dot his nose with a dob of shaving cream.

Grinning at his stunned expression, she dipped the razor in the sink, wetting it. With care and intensity, she brought the blades against his face, waiting until he gave some sort of signal that he was ready to proceed. Grissom's lips twitched, his eyes still firmly on hers. He blinked once, twice and smiled slightly.

Sara took that as a sign to proceed and pulled the razor along the edge of his facial hair, shaving away the random hairs that didn't belong on the grid that was his beard. And a damn sexy beard it was, she thought. It was something she took particular pleasure in grabbing onto during their more passionate moments.

She dunked the dirty tool into the water and brought it back up to his face.

He wanted to ask her to be careful, if only out of habit, but he didn't. There was no other way for her to be. He doubted she would give him less than one hundred percent of her attention. Grissom's blue eyes were drawn to her lips, pursed in concentration.

Sara traced along the curved edge of the facial hair that graced his cheeks. Again, she dipped the razor into the cloudy water and brought it back up to his face. Sara moved to the right cheek, delicately pulling the sharp edge along his skin, beginning to hum as she worked.

He admired her thoroughness, going back to catch any stray hairs that she had missed. He focused on her eyes for a moment, then moved onto the creases in her forehead, a sign that she was truly concentrating.

Once she was satisfied with the job she'd done with the upper portion, she wiped his face gently with a warm, damp washcloth. A raised brow on her part invited a slow kiss as a thank you. Sara hummed deeply when his lips fell upon hers, deeper than she had when she was going about the shaving.

They broke away and she pressed his chin towards the ceiling with a single index finger and began work on his neck.

She moved the sharp metal around deliberately, easily, taking away the hairs that had the audacity to grow out of pattern.

Her fingers trailed straight after the blades, as if soothing his skin. They walked over his jugular and skated up the front of his Adam's apple as she finished up with her inspection of his beard.

Sara pulled back and had him tilt his head left, then right, up and then down and was finally satisfied with the job she had done. Again, she brought the wash cloth up to wipe away the traces of white foam she had left.

And when she was completely done, she grinned at him, a victory in the wattage. "I have to shower," she said, sliding down off of the porcelain, into his arms.

"So do I," he replied. "What a coincidence."

Her grin was mischievous as she shed her clothes and tossed them onto the hamper, turning back after she had stepped into the tub. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, naked leg peeking out from behind the frosted shower curtain. He too stepped out of his clothes and followed her into the shower.

Laughter bounced off of the tiled walls when he turned on the water and pulled her into his arms.