Title: The Reality of Fantasy 1/1
Author: Teenwitch
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Summary: There were no qualms or regrets or insecurities, they just were.
Spoilers for Time of Your Death.
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Fantasies were best kept private.
He considered this as his fingers drifted over the smooth curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered but didn't open, and he continued to trace a smooth path over her skin, marvelling at her fragility in sleep; a fragility she tried, and succeeded, to hide to the world every day.
She sighed slightly under her breath, a delicate, hitching sound, and he wondered if she was dreaming. Her forehead crinkled slightly, and the pillow rustled as she shifted, instinctively leaning into his familiar touch. He smiled faintly, gazing down at her as her eyes slid sleepily open, and she gazed dreamily back up at him.
"Hey," she murmured, blinking a little to clear the sleepiness from her eyes.
"Hey," he replied, voice rumbling in the silence of the room, lowering his hand slowly from her cheek to the mattress.
"What are you doing?" she asked, smile tugging at her voice as she tilted her head to the side, regarding him coyly.
"Just… watching," he said faintly.
She continued to smile, brown hair tangled messily around her head on the pillow. She made no effort to straighten it, and her complete lack of self-consciousness resonated within him as a sign of her trust. "Why?" she asked, bordering on amusement.
"The soul in sleep gives proof of its divine nature," he quoted thoughtfully.
She smiled, self-depreciating and flattered at the same time, turning her head into the pillow to hide her surprised grin. "You know, I don't think I would let any other guy get away with a line like that on me."
He concealed his smirk, though it was very, very hard. "Is that right?"
"Well, you get props for your creativity," she noted offhandedly, linking her hands over the sheet on her stomach. "Most of them tend to stick with Shakespeare."
This time, the smirk did reach his lips, and he bent forward, pressing his lips lightly to her cheek, beard scratching slightly against her skin. She turned her head to meet him, sighing softly against his mouth as they kissed, an infinite sense of softness and gentle patience traversing between them.
He lifted his broad fingers, moulding them softly to the curve of her waist, savouring her warmth through the thin sheet and her light tank top as she swivelled on her side.
She slid her hand over the firm line of his forearm, circling it around his neck until her fingers were tangling through his greying hair, stroking the hair at his nape. They were pressed together lengthwise, and their kisses grew with more intimacy, nibbling and teasing one another's lips with languid purpose, prolonging the moment with an ease that only came from a confident affinity with time.
There were no qualms or regrets or insecurities, they just were, curving into each other, giving into their mutual want and need without an ounce of trepidation.
How they should be.
Grissom shifted in his chair as Catherine brushed past him, the whoosh of air in her wake stirring him reluctantly from his reverie.
He returned his stare to Sara across the length of the table, gazing at her with a rare, unrestrained intensity, the imaginary taste and feel of her still on his lips and tingling through his hands.
She lifted her eyes from the papers in front of her, their deep, hooded brownness still dancing in amusement from Greg's glib remarks, and lighting with a quiet level of understanding as she read his unwavering stare. A faint smile pulled at her lips, but there was a permanent sense of caution there, a wariness that came with reality.
He looked down at the table, then up at her again, mind replaying the scene he had visualised so vividly in his mind's eye.
Yes, fantasies were definitely best kept private.
xx