Title: A Trip Down Memory Lane
Rating: Mature (a little potty mouth, a little porn)
Spoilers: Anything up to the end of Season 6, including the finale, is fair game.
Disclaimers: I just checked again... CSI is still not mine. Dammit.
Dedication: WINDBOUND (on LJ) can take credit for helping me to drag this one out, brush it off, and finally get back to writing. Thanks!
A/N: The original plan was to post this in 2 parts, but the darn thing just keeps growing. This is the second installment and there'll only be one more after this. It won't make much sense without reading the first part, so ya… go do that, ok? Enjoy!
A Trip Down Memory Lane
- part 2 -
- - - - - - - - -
Ok, I won't go into all the details of their six-hour drive the following day, because quite honestly it wasn't all that exciting. It was your standard roadtrip – they chatted, they stopped for lunch, they listened to some music, made a couple of bladder-induced pit stops, blah blah blah. Things started getting more interesting when they were pretty much there, though…
Now Sara was thrilled that they were heading to an area of Nevada that she hadn't been to, but she was somewhat leery as to what they might find at their destination. She loved Brass to pieces… however… he was a man - a single man - and Sara was well aware that single men in general have a different standard of acceptable lodgings than most women. Although Sara wasn't most women, she did possess a fairly definite ideal of cleanliness. She was worried that this little-used "cottage in the woods" would turn out to be a one-room shack with a pot-bellied woodstove, a vermin-infested mattress on the floor in the corner, and a rickety set of folding chairs around a table whose sole purpose was to accommodate Brass and his drinking buddies for a few games of poker between their manly attempts at hunting. Not a pleasant image at all.
So once they had veered off the main highway, as indicated in Jim's scrawled directions, the vacationers made their way along a fairly overgrown dirt road through about a mile of low brush. They eventually broke through into a smaller clearing, and the track wound its way across it into stand of towering trees. As they neared the thicket, the front of a cedar-shake cabin came into view tucked just inside the woods. Its front door was painted a pale buttery yellow that matched the window frames. I'd say that "quaint" is about the best word to describe it in a nutshell – it may sound cliché, but it really was. There was even a split-rail fence separating the roadway from the property. Sara couldn't help but be pleased with the surprising scene.
After the lengthy treck, Grissom was happy to see the place too, though his relief was more for a chance to get out of the truck and get the feeling back in his ass - it had gone numb a good twenty minutes earlier. He drove around the fence and pulled up in a cleared spot near the entrance. As the pair climbed out of the air-conditioned interior, they expected to be hit with the late afternoon heat that was surely cooking the Las Vegans back home. Instead, they were greeted by a fresh wind and a much more tolerable warmth. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of the quaking aspen, which were quite aptly living up to their name in the breeze, created a peaceful atmosphere.
"Wow," they said in unison, then looked at each other and grinned stupidly. This was looking good so far.
They toted their bags inside and dumped them by the front door before sleuthing out the layout of the place. Both were suitably impressed by what they found within as they meandered about. Who knew Brass had such a flair for décor? There weren't too many rooms and none of them were very big, but it was nicely done up. And more importantly for Sara, it was clean.
A stone fireplace with a cozy leather sofa in front of it greeted them in the main room. The galley kitchen had decent, modern appliances – not just the hand-me-down junk that many people relegate to their cabins. There was indoor plumbing, which may not seem worth mentioning unless you've had the misfortune of outhousing it, so ya… it had plumbing. And the crowning glory awaited them in the bedroom. It was a handsome, peeled-log frame bed with an extra deep mattress, and a gaggle of pillows piled at the head. A rag quilt of flannel and old denim squares covered the bed, warming up the room with its palette of beiges, creams, and pale blue. It wasn't something that Sara would ever have imagined Jim to own, and reading her mind, Grissom supplied the logical explanation as she caressed its soft surface, tracing the frayed seams.
"His ex was famous for her quilts. Not a terribly common hobby in this day and age, but as you can see, the woman had talent. This was the only one he ever liked… it's actually the only thing he took with him besides his clothes when they split up."
Grissom shuffled up behind Sara and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He mumbled softly, "So… what do you think of the place?"
To be frank, she was thrilled at the modern conveniences, the well-kept furnishings, and, dust aside, the unexpected cleanliness they had found. Twining her fingers in his, Sara beamed as she leaned back against him.
"I think we need to do something really nice for Brass when we get home. I mean it… this place is absolutely gorgeous, Gil. Just perfect," to which he hummed his agreement.
With their tour complete, they made their way back to the main room where Sara drew him into her arms. She grazed his lips with a delicate kiss and meant it to end there, but Gil had other ideas. He wrapped his longer arms completely around her, pinning her arms between his biceps and his torso, and brought their mouths together again. This time with a little more oomph behind it.
She squeaked at the unexpected move, but kissed him back heartily, running her fingers back and forth in short strokes along the waistline at the back of his shorts. That was about as much as her current trapped position allowed. God, she loved how possessive and almost aggressive he could get. Never in a domineering sense, mind you, but in a way that made her felt sensual and wanted and needed. He nabbed her lower lip between his and held it captive, sucking lightly, his tongue playing along its plumpness. And then he started to sway from side to side with her as though moving to music only he could hear. With a shuddering sigh he pulled his head back a little, stretching the flesh a tad before releasing it. The low sound from her throat – something between a moan and a laugh – brought him back in for more of her luscious mouth.
Real kissing like this has largely become a lost art, but not with these two. It plays many roles in their relationship. Besides just a greeting and farewell it's for comfort and foreplay, for assurance and an expression of happiness. It follows their laughter and chases away tears, and when they're run down with the burdens of life, it's their promise of unconditional love as they hold each other.
I don't know how, but much as she was enjoying their impromptu makeout session, Sara managed to nudge her nose against his cheek and break off the kiss, leaving them panting in each other's arms, forehead to forehead. I do know why, however, and the sound of her stomach rumbling let Grissom know why too.
He kissed her once more then hoisted her up in a bear hug and spun her around. She giggled and wriggled in his arms until he set her down, resting her bottom against the back of the couch. "Shall I feed you?"
Stroking a hand down his chest she answered saucily, "Ply me with food, my love, and I'll treat you to a very sweet dessert later..."
Well, Grissom sure as hell didn't need to give that offer much consideration. He dipped low into a flourish of a bow. "Your wish is my command, m'lady."
He popped out to the truck to bring in the groceries while she took the luggage to the bedroom and tossed their toiletry tote onto the bathroom counter on her way by. They met up again by the kitchen sink and spared no time in starting their dinner preparations. After all, she was starving and he wanted dessert!
As he was unloading the numerous bottles of seasonings they had been wise enough to bring along (it seems that Brass could decorate, but apparently felt that salt and pepper were all a man needs in the pantry), Gil dropped the basil. When retrieving it from the floor, he noticed that Sara was still in her favorite canvas sneakers.
I know what you're all thinking… you thought I was just going to drop the whole shoe thing, right? Well, there was a point to that whole earlier ditty…
Straightening up, Gil decided to razz her a bit. "Gosh, your feet must be roasting in those shoes and socks. Wouldn't you rather be wearing nice cool sandals like me? Oh wait… the only other things you brought up are those embarrassing flip flop things, and they really didn't look all that comfortable..."
Just to spite him, she grinned and toddled off to take him up on his suggestion, as he knew she would. Returning a minute later, she went back to making her world-famous salad of fresh greens, sunflower seeds and raspberries, ignoring his obvious amusement at her colourful footwear that clashed badly with her khakis. As she puttered about the small kitchen, her steps were now making a distinct "fwappa fwappa fwappa" sound that Grissom couldn't help but mock.
"Could you possibly make a little more noise?" he asked sarcastically while slicing a loaf of french bread.
"What?"
He chuckled. "Well, I certainly won't have to worry about you sneaking up behind me in those clod-hoppers, will I?"
This prompted a childish huff from her, and she stuck her tongue out at him to complete the image of immaturity. He raised his hands in surrender.
"Hey… I'm just saying that you're scaring off the wildlife for miles around with all that racket and the local hunters won't be very happy about it," he chided.
The far-from-serious glower she shot his way amused him, but also distracted him just long enough for her to heave a cherry tomato his way. She snickered when it thwapped off his forehead and he bobbled it before it fell to the floor. Laughing, he bent to snag it, gave it a quick rinse, then popped it into his mouth. His eyebrows waggled comically at her as he chewed. Sara shook her head and gave him a kiss on the nose as she slid the package of salmon in front of him to doctor up.
In no time at all, Grissom set the prepared foil packets of herbed fish and veggies in the BBQ out on the back deck. As he shut the lid he realized they'd forgotten the wine in the cooler out in the truck. After collecting it, he returned to the kitchen and started ransacking various drawers on a quest for a corkscrew – that was one thing they hadn't thought to bring and he was hoping against hope that they wouldn't have to resort to pushing the cork into the bottle in desperation. Nothing ruins a good Beaujolais like a bitter cork floaty.
And of course, that's when it happened. The inevitable. C'mon… we all know it was bound to happen sooner or later. The chances of avoiding it are slim at best, and yet we all ignore the risks, don't we? Hedge our bets that today will be different and we'll manage to get through unscathed. Sara should be so lucky. No, the Fate-Fairies were feeling particularly devious this day and decided to have a little fun with her. Sara was minding her own business, walking across the faded deck towards the picnic table, left – right – left – right – le… "Wuh!"
Grissom heard the yelp and crash, and immediately bolted through the open patio door. There he found Sara sprawled face-down on the planks. The slew of cuss words rumbling under her breath would put a trucker to shame. Their delectable salad now adorned the table, bench, and a good arc of the deck in front of her. It must've caught some pretty good air, as the overturned bowl was now about eight feet away by the railing.
"Oh shit -- Sara, you ok?"
A split second of observation while he scuttled to her side summed up the problem. The tip of one of her precious flip flops had apparently snagged on a floorboard mid-stride. As any self-respecting flip flop would, it had folded back under itself to about the ball of her foot, splitting the foam and popping the tab of the thong out of the base. The result - a rather unceremonious faceplant.
Grissom gently helped the groaning woman roll over and sit up. He cringed as he took in her state. Oh, but that old deck was weathered and unforgiving. Her hands seemed to have taken the brunt of the tumble. They were scraped up pretty badly with pinpricks of blood blossoming. Worst of all they were now streaked from fingertip to wrist with countless slivers - some of them were massive. Her toes wiggling above the remnants of the offending shoe were in need of bandaging as well, especially her big toe.
With her face screwed up, she mustered a pitiful, "Um… ow?" She was trying to make light of the humiliating situation, but her unshed tears gave her away. He could tell that it wasn't just the burn of embarrassment causing her to well up. Tough or not, that's gotta hurt.
"Aw, Honey…" he started, but she sharply cut him off.
"No, don't… you'll only make me cry. Just… I'm fine… just help me up, ok? Please?"
Well, I'll bet you can pretty much guess the next bit. Grissom did indeed help her up. He then guided her hobbling form through the salad and got her settled in her seat. At Sara's insistence that she really was ok, which he really didn't believe, he trotted back out to the truck to fetch the first aid kit. They spent the next hour and a half making strained conversation. He asking her probing questions to get her mind off the pain of him tweezing out the acres of slivers, and she wincing now and then, trying to answer as best as she could. Luckily she had the pleasure of watching him up close to help distract her. That helped some… not much, but some.
Dinner was forgotten until some time into Gil's medical duties when the telltale charred odor reminded them that it was still on the grill. When he plucked the now burnt and smoking packet from the heat, there was no point in even opening the foil. The damage was obvious so he tossed it aside to cool before they could throw it out, then returned to the task at hand.
Finally he stood and declared her wood-free. She sucked in a quick rush of air through clenched teeth as he dunked her tender hands in a bowl of cool water. By the time Grissom had carefully dried her off, slathered her in ointment and gauzed her up, the sun had ducked behind the treetops. Around them the nocturnal insects had begun their evening song.
Feeling much better, Sara stood on her own and gave her discarded thongs the evil eye. Ya, she sure showed them who was boss. In a show of solidarity, Grissom gave them a swift kick for good measure. "C'mon inside before we get eaten alive out here," he offered, swatting at the sudden cloud of man-eating mosquitoes with one arm and slipping the other around his girl.
Once the patient was parked at the kitchen table, she apologized for the umpteenth time for ruining their evening. She even threw in a little self-bashing for her clumsiness while she was at it. It was quite a little pity-party Sara was throwing herself, but all things considered, it was a pretty crappy way to start their vacation.
As she prattled on, Gil let her vent while he whipped up a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their long-overdue supper. It wasn't fancy, but it'd have to do. He joined her at the table, assuring her once again that there was nothing for her to be sorry for – it was simply an unfortunate accident. She sat frowning at her dinner for a moment before he clued in to why she wasn't eating. Without a word he leaned closer to lift the food to her mouth, since her swollen mummy-wrapped hands were not so useful at the moment. It wasn't the highlight of her life to have to be fed like some invalid, but at this point Sara's hunger won out over her embarrassment.
They ate in a companionable silence, Gil finishing his sandwich long before Sara. Eventually, with her mouth poised to take the last bite from his thick fingers, she noticed how intently he was watching her. For the first time since pre-wipeout Sara smiled – well, it was more a half smile, but it was better than none at all.
"What?" she asked, taking in the offered crust.
He watched as she finished the morsel before answering, "I just… I really love you." He shrugged like it was no big deal but the words rung true.
This coaxed a full-blown grin from her (and really… who wouldn't?), one that made her eyes crinkle and his heart soar. Drawing herself up, she slid around the table, leaning over to plant a slow wet one on her lover. He moaned and slowly dragged her down to straddle his lap, melting into her kiss. She intended to make good on her promise of dessert, despite the fact that her salmon got torched. Reaching up, Sara cupped her hands around the back of his neck, intent on pulling him closer, but as soon as she applied a little pressure she was unkindly reminded of her injuries. Their lip-lock ended abruptly when she jerked back and let out a growl, holding her hands up between them and glaring at them like it was their fault that she fell.
Grissom took hold of her wrists with care. "Honey, maybe this isn't such a good idea tonight..."
That may have been what his mouth was saying, but the swelling rod making its presence known under her was saying otherwise. He wasn't the only one aroused at this point either. They had started something before dinner, and by god, they were going to finish it. No, Sara wasn't letting this go so easily. That stubborn streak I mentioned earlier had kicked in.
She shifted a little, purposely grinding against his erection in the process. This most certainly did not go unnoticed. His eyes slid shut at the sensation and he let his head tilt back a little. Stretching her arms out to either side with his fingers still loosely around her forearms, she nuzzled up by his ear and whispered the one thing she knew would change his mind.
"But I want you, Gil... please…"
When his hips twitched to increase the pressure against her crotch, Sara knew that she had won. Not that this was by any means a loss on his part, you understand. Just to be sure, she traced her tongue around the shell of his ear before licking her way down the side of his tanned neck. She settled in to lounge a while in the dip above his collarbone. The papery-skinned hollow was a favorite spot of hers, and his too it would seem if his quivering gasp was any indication.
Gathering his wits, which was a fairly challenging task at that moment, Grissom murmured his surrender. "Well… I suppose we could… oh god… we could… um… give it another try."
Lordy, but he was a slave to that woman. They both knew it and that was ok, because she was just as likely to spoil him right back. That's what made them so great together – the ultimate symbiotic relationship of give and take.
Right now Sara was definitely giving by tasting her way across his chest to pay equal attention to the other side of his neck. Lolling his head slowly in the opposite direction, Gil gave her clear access, content to be taking the pleasure being lavished on him. At some point her pelvis had begun a subtle rocking motion, teasing him (and herself, too) to a near frenzy, and he had to shift his hands to her waist and stop her before the party ended early.
Sara's throaty laugh vibrated against his skin, bringing the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to attention and puckering his nipples. His hands slid down to caress the curves of her ass. At first he traced fingertip swirls over them, but when he twisted his head around and drew her back into a deep kiss his grasp became more firm and he ground himself up against her. Hard.
As quickly as he'd upped the ante he eased off. "Enough of this chair," he panted, then lightly patting her bottom he growled, "Up."
Wordlessly she complied, leaning her forearms on his shoulders to balance herself as she rose. He followed her up and away from the table. The dishes could wait, but the ache slowly building in his balls? Not so much. Especially not with the way she was looking at him - those piercing eyes, those swollen lips still slick with moisture from his mouth.
Gil briefly entertained the notion of scooping her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom. It was a truly romantic notion and he was proud of himself for even considering it, but bearing in mind his temperamental knees, he dismissed the idea. One fall was definitely enough for today.
Instead, his palm made its way to its favorite haunt - the dip of her lower back. "Care to join me in mussing up Jim's sheets?"
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AN: The 3rd and final chapter will be along within the week…