JUST ONE KISS

Epilogue

Once again, a song helps Greg explain his feelings.

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A couple of nights later, Greg and me went back to Abby's coffee shop.

While I was taking a sip of my coffee, I casually glanced at him over the rim of my cup. He was staring incredulously at me.

"What?" I asked.

"That's your third cup tonight, Grissom." He said, "How much more caffeine do you need?

"It's good." I shrugged.

Actually, I didn't know how much more coffee I'd be able to tolerate. I'd tried to make each cup last, but since the alternative to drinking was talking, I'd ended up finishing each cup of coffee sooner than expected.

And Greg had been looking closely at me all along. His brain was feverishly working, I could tell. He was probably trying to come up with an explanation to my behavior.

And now, all of a sudden, there was this look in his eyes –as if he had just come up with the answer.

"So, Grissom." he said nonchalantly, "How long do we have to wait before the Viagra kicks in?"

I almost choked on my coffee.

"I'm not taking Viagra!" I said indignantly.

His eyebrows rose comically. He reacted as if my answer had surprised him, but he had overdone it.

He's a really bad actor.

"You're not?" he asked, his eyes still wide open.

"No." I said morosely.

"Oh." he paused. He seemed to mull on this piece of information, "That's good to know," He said slowly. Then he looked up, "Not that it would really matter, Grissom." he said magnanimously, "I mean, I'm a live-and-let-live kind of guy. If you take Viagra, then it's ok by me-"

"I'm not taking -"

"It's no big deal nowadays," he continued, "And after all, you're a bit older than me, so it would be only natural if -"

"I'M NOT TAKING VIAGRA," I said loudly, only to have the couple sitting next to us look in my direction. I lowered my voice, "I'm not taking Viagra." I repeated testily.

"Ok -" he said, disbelief still clear in his tone.

"As a matter of fact, I don't need it," I added smugly.

"All right," he said. Then he frowned theatrically, "But if you're not taking Viagra, then what are we still doing here?"

Uh. Excellent question.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a ready answer.

I pretended to be really interested on my coffee.

"I mean," Greg continued, "We've been here for over an hour now, Grissom. The coffee's good, but come on, it's not that good."

"Well, hum." I mumbled.

He leant forward.

"I thought we'd agreed on this," he said quietly, "I was all for jumping into bed the minute we, hum, realized we were in love with each other, but you said you wanted us to wait a couple of days to think it over, and I said 'fine, let's do that,' even though I didn't need to think things over since, let's face it, I was all for doing it right then and there in the first place, and so were you -or so I thought."

Wow. It never ceases to amaze me, his ability to put together such a long string of words without taking a single breath.

It used to exasperate me when he did it at the lab, but now I've come to appreciate this, hum, talent of his: It's very useful when it comes to kissing. Those kisses of his last so long…

Mmmmh...

"Hey," he said sharply, "Are you listening to me?"

I blinked.

"Yeah." I said.

"For a minute you looked like you were daydreaming, or something." he said testily, "You tend to space out when I'm talking to you, you know.

"Anyway," he continued, "I took a couple of days to think it over, and I haven't changed my mind, Grissom. And if you haven't changed your mind and you don't need Viagra... Why don't we just go home?" He lowered his voice, "My bed is a-waiting." he sang.

I cleared my throat.

"I thought we should talk first."

"About what?" he retorted, "I don't wanna talk," he added, "I don't want to think it over anymore."

I tried to put in a word, but he ignored me.

"Frankly," he muttered, "The longer we put this off, the freakier it'll get."

I frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it's just..." he started, and suddenly, the man who's never at a loss for words found himself fishing around for the right thing to say. He looked around as if hoping for inspiration. He glanced at the posters on the walls, but Fleetwood Mac didn't seem to help.

"It's just… I'd never felt like this," he muttered awkwardly.

I looked at him in surprise.

"I know," he said sheepishly. "It's a cliché. But I don't know how else to put it. It's… freaky."

There was that word again.

"I mean," he continued, "You're older than me - you've got grey hair and all, but... When I look at you I don't see any of this; all I see is how blue your eyes are, and how handsome you are, and - shit, it's like I'm looking at you through rose-colored glasses, for God's sake."

I winced. With just a few phrases, he had managed to flatter me and put me down, all at the same time.

"And that's not all," he continued, "I've been downloading all sort of music -your kind of music. I've been listening to Pink Floyd, The Guess Who -" he faltered as he gave me a long list of rock groups.

"Take a breath," I interjected.

"-Led Zeppelin," He finished, "And I really liked them."

"Well..." I hesitated, "I'm glad you did."

He seemed disappointed by my answer.

"You don't get it." he muttered.

I tried to be reasonable.

"Greg," I said, "Just because you like my kind of music doesn't mean you're going to lose your identity." I said tentatively. "But if what you're trying to say is that you're having second thoughts about this -"

"I'm not." Greg replied, "I don't have second thoughts, Grissom, and I don't want to wait. What I want is to go ahead and do it. Now. Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak."

I winced. That didn't sound very romantic.

Romantic.

The word made me wince again. Maybe there was a problem, after all. All of a sudden, I realized that I may have been looking at this relationship though rose-colored glasses, too.

The truth was, I'd been envisioning a lifetime with him, this past couple of days. I'd even picture us moving in together, and staying in love forever, for God's sake.

How realistic was that?

Maybe it was time for a wake-up call.

Feeling at a loss for words, I looked at him.

"So..." I said, "Which Pink Floyd song's your favorite?"

"Run like Hell." He said pointedly.

"I like that one, too."

"That's all you can say?" he glared.

"Greg... Look," I started, "You'd never been in love with an older man. You're bound to feel confused. I guess I have it easier," I added, "I mean, nobody would question me for being in love with you."

Greg frowned.

"They wouldn't?"

"No. I mean, anyone would fall for you. You're -" I tried to come up with the right word, "... Special."

"Special?" he repeated. He was clearly disappointed at my choice of words.

"Unique?" I suggested, but I could see he wasn't satisfied.

"Special and unique." he said wearily. "Gee, that sounds like some poor guy who's being profiled on the Discovery Heath Channel."

"I didn't mean it like that." I said. "What I'm trying to say is... I'd never met anyone like you, and -" I paused, "I don't think I'd ever felt like this before, either."

"Oh." he paused while he reviewed my words, "You mean that?"

"Sure." I said.

"Oh. Good. That means we're on the same track, here. Right?"

"It seems so, yes."

"That's great," he said. Then he looked down, "The problem is... I don't know how long it'll last, Grissom. I mean, I do want it to last, but the truth is, I've never been a fan of long-term commitments."

Wow. He was being more honest than I expected. Too honest, in fact. He'd just shattered my 'lifetime-together' fantasies.

I didn't visibly react, however; I am a good actor.

"I understand." I said simply.

"That's why I want us to do this -now." he said. "I don't want to miss a minute of it -whether it's a week, or a month of a year." He looked up, "Ok?"

"For as long as it lasts." I said firmly. (Hey, it's not like I had a choice, there.)

"Good." He said, "So... What did you want to talk about?"

I scoffed.

"Nothing." I said, glad that I never had a chance to tell him about my own visions of the future. "Nothing." I repeated, "Let's go."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I buried my face into his sweaty neck while I cradled his body from behind. We were both out of breath, still shaking with the aftermaths of our shared orgasm.

I remained inside him for as long as I could, but I couldn't stay there forever. We both gasped as I slipped out at last. Still, I didn't let go of him. I'd been gripping him so tightly that it felt as if my fingers had dug little hollows into his arms. They fit in.

I was exhausted, and in other circumstances I would have simply rolled over and fallen asleep. But not this time; I needed to know what the verdict was; I needed to know what our chances were. Whatever he said would determine whether we had a night, or a week, or a month… or more.

But it turned out that Greg was not as talkative during sex or after it as he was the rest of the time. He just lay there.

Trying a little tenderness, I dropped a kiss on his shoulder.

This made him react at last.

"Oh, man…" he whispered. Then, to my surprise, he laughed softly.

"What?" I said testily.

"Nothing. It's just…" But he didn't say more.

I needed to look at him -I was sure that as soon as I looked into his face I'd know how he felt about our relationship- but before I could make him turn, he rolled out of my reach. Worse yet, he crawled out of bed and without glancing back, stumbled out of the room.

This, I didn't expect.

There was no use in going after him, so, wearily, I leant back into the pillows and waited for his return.

Absent-mindedly, I looked down. In the faint light I saw faint bruises on my skin. I was staring at these mementos of his, when suddenly, a familiar song broke the silence.

Sweet, wonderful you,
You make me happy with the things you do,
Oh, can it be so,
This feeling follows me wherever I go.

I never did believe in miracles,
But I've a feeling it's time to try.
I never did believe in the ways of magic,
But I'm beginning to wonder why.

He came back and leant on the doorway.

"Like the song?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Don't, don't break the spell,
It would be different and you know it will,
You, you make loving fun,
And I don't have to tell you you're the only one.

You make loving fun.
You make loving fun.

Greg took a couple of steps towards the bed, and then he stopped.

"It's a bit mushy, I guess." He said doubtfully.

"It's not."

He smiled, and then he practically leapt in the air and landed right on top of me.

I groaned at the impact, but he was unapologetic. He was laughing, and after a moment I started to laugh, too.

Well, at least he sounded happy -it was a start.

After a while, we simply lay together. He was still on top of me, and his cheek was touching mine. That was nice, but I was still hoping he would say something. The song wasn't enough.

And then, just as if he'd read my thoughts, he lifted his face and looked straight into my eyes, and said -

"Wanna marry me, Grissom?"

And that was enough.

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THE END

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"You make loving fun," was written by Christine McVie from Fleetwood Mac.