Greg Sanders was a patient man.
However, in the last hour and a half, since his lips had left Sara's, he had become annoyingly impatient. He leaned against the end of the row of lockers, grinning madly at the brunette at the other end of the room.
"Ready?" She turned at his voice, and smiled shyly.
"Look, Greg, I-"
"I just figured, you'd, umm, you know, want to talk about feelings or something, get all girly and estrogen filled." He his smile faltered as he became suddenly interested in the floor. She closed her locker, then the gap between them. He raised his gaze back to her face when he realized he was staring at her shoes, inches away from his. "I wouldn't want you to not have any estrogen, I didn't mean that in a negative way, I just, well, you know how girls get- well, I guess you don't, seeing as you are one, but I've seen this before, and you know, Dr. Phil says that women and men would relate better if they let their emotions out, and I really want to not screw this up, well, I mean, I like you with the estrogen, you know, it's kinda nice, what I mean is, umm, I like your estrogen."
"Greg." Sara was mere inches away; he could feel her breath on his neck. Oh god. Suddenly his jeans felt snug. He must. Not. Blow this.
"What?" His voice was back to the hoarse whisper again. He watched in awe as her eyes darkened a few shades. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he instantly knew that it was a bad move. All his body heat settled in his belly, all the blood in his body rushed to the crotch of his jeans, which were becoming uncomfortable. He had to not mess this up. This was his one chance. Oh god.
He was jolted back to reality when she slipped her index finger into the side of his belt and pulled his hips flush with hers.
Whoa.
"Sar-" His breath hitched suddenly as her lips grazed along his jawbone. She stepped carefully around his foot, zipper of her fly dragging lightly across the thigh of the front of his leg. "Good God." He whispered, her hand had begun to drag after her body, she was still moving, slowly. Her delicate fingers came to rest around the soft leather of his belt, her lips paused at his ear.
"First dates are overrated, Gregory." Her breath was warm in his ear. She took his earlobe briefly between her lips, running we tongue along the soft skin in a tantalizing manner that nearly had him come in his pants like a fourteen year old kid.
"Umm." He turned his head to face her, jaw dropped in astonishment at her seductive display. She reached up, and pulled his head forward, meeting his lips in a delicate kiss. His words were coming back to him slowly. "They're for people who don't really know each other, so they can validate the physical intimacy that ensures as soon as the check is taken away." He smiled, genuinely. "People like, us, Sara Jane, we have no use for formalities." He touched his forehead to hers. He cradled her face in his hands, and he shivered as he felt hers come to rest on the waistband of his jeans, slipping under the hem of his shirt.
She stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed him again. She leaned against him, and he retreated slightly, his jeans were still uncomfortably tight, and he really really really didn't want to blow this. He pulled back from her kiss, and dropped his hands, bending to pick up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder.
"Which one of us has a cleaner apartment, then?" He threw her a lazy grin, and tried not to be distracted by the swell of her lips. She returned his smile, and raised her keys.
"I'll drive."
……………
Sara felt the heat in her abdomen return as she stopped at the third red light in about sixty feet. Not because of the red light, although that was starting to piss her off. Greg had left his Denali at the lab, and was currently humming along with the crap that was seeping out of her radio. It wasn't his humming that turned her on, though. He was nonchalantly tracing nonsense shapes on her thigh, and now that she had stopped him traffic, his fingers roamed higher, inches away from the furnace that had moved into her body.
She chanced a glance at him, but he was looking out the window.
Greg Sanders was a patient man.
He could wait through six more lights. That was it, though. Three was already too many. If his touch did half of what her touch did to him, she would be moaning in crumpled sheets in no time. He had six years premeditation on this one. He could wait another twenty minutes.
…………….
Sara unlocked the door to her apartment with a soft click. Her feet denied her mobility, however, and Greg picked up on her hesitancy easily. Like she could hide that from him, he spent six years memorizing her expressions and her mannerisms. He raised a hand, reaching out to touch the small of her back with his fingers.
"I'll go." His tone was even, the tambre of his voice concerned. He didn't want to pressure her; that would be ugly from everyone. She glanced at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. She lifted an eyebrow suggestively. "Or I could stay."
He watched in disbelief as she opened the door and crossed the threshold. Oh god. He followed her in, and pressed the door shut behind him, eyes never leaving her figure. She shrugged off her jacket, and tossed her keys into a dish. He dropped his duffel bag unceremoniously and ungracefully, as she turned to face him.
"When one starts something, Mr. Sanders, one must be prepared to follow through." He only nodded, crinkling his brow in agreement, and pulled her to him, crushing his lips to hers, sliding his tongue beyond her parted lips, immediately deepening the kiss. Greg poured his heart out to her tenderly kissing her with the earnest passion, the raw emotions that he felt, every time she looked at him.
He kissed her with six years of longing and pent up energies. Before he got ahead of himself, however, he needed to tell her that she was everything to him, and he was not going to be a one-night stand. She needed to understand that if they were to finish what they had started tonight, he had to know that there was hope of starting something tomorrow.
Greg pulled away from her kiss, and put at least two feet between them. He held up a hand, silencing her protests, and acknowledging her confusion.
"What, Greg?"
"I have something to say." Greg shifted his weight, and took a deep breath, in and out.
"Go on, then." Sara had perched herself on the arm of the couch, and crossed her arms in an embarrassed, defeated manner. This was it. It was a mistake. He was going to tell her all he could give her was the sex, that they couldn't have a relationship because they were colleagues. He was going to tell her that he had a bet going with Nick and Warrick to see how fast he could get her turned on and naked. She watched him take a slow, deep breath. Oh god.
"Hear me out, ok?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his expression was apprehensive, nervous, and reminiscent of a second grader caught picking his nose.
"Alright."
"Don't speak. I want to get this out before I lose my nerve." He stopped, taking his hands out of his pockets, balling them together. "Ok. I don't want to be just a dent on your bedroom wall. I have six years of lust and adoration and dirty thoughts invested in our projected activities in the other room, and I just want to make sure that this is real. By real, I mean that I will tell you flat out that I have dreamed of the day that I would be lucky enough to kiss you to sleep and kiss you awake, and if you want all of that, then I will stay, but if you were thinking that this wouldn't go past an hour and a half from now, then I am going to duck out now, because I won't survive if you toss me aside, leave a note on the pillow, or never want to see me again." He took a step forward, eyes shimmering with passion, and blinding, unconditional love. He gestured down the hall, where the door to her bedroom was half open, and the neatly assembled bed was in sight, dropping his voice to a scratchy whisper that had turned her on so quickly hours before. "We go down that hall, Sara, and everything changes."
"Everything already has."
Greg smiled heartily, and bent to kiss her, coming to stand against her. Delicate fingers lightly pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he let it drop at his feet, concentrating on ridding her of the dark, formfitting camisole that lay underneath the light sweater she had already shed. She briskly fumbled with the hem of his tee shirt, pushing it over his head after running her hands over the smooth plains of his torso. Her fingers gently tugged his belt loose, and unfastened the top button of his jeans.
Greg turned his attention to the nape of her neck, pressing tantalizing kisses along her neck, moving to her shoulder, and collarbone. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers rub against his back. He pushed away the thin strap of her bra, and, in reaching behind her, made it fall open and tugged it the rest of the way off her frame. She looked over at the coffee table, dropping the discarded article on top of the latest copy of the Journal of Forensic Science.
When she turned back to him, Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead. From there he bent, and placed a loving kiss just below her ear, then moved further, gently flicked the sensitive skin of her nipple with his tongue.
He was rewarded with the sexiest, most arousing noise he had ever heard in his life.
A soft moan had slipped from Sara's lips.
How they ended up on Sara's bed, he would never remember. Regardless, he had dreamed of this very day for years, and he was determined to act out each of his fantasies. He laid her down tenderly, and stilled her urgent movements, silenced her protests with a finger to her lips, already swollen from kisses. He hovered above her, opening her legs with a wandering knee. He pushed coppery brown curls out of her face, and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. She caught his lips as they passed by her own, and Greg temporarily forgot his premeditated plan of action. She tugged at his scraggly hair, pulling his head to hers, and holding it there. He felt her wrap her legs around his waist, and the sudden pressure of the intimate part of her panties rubbing against his erection, even through his jeans was too much for him. Before he could think of his next move, Sara had flipped him on his back, and had straddled him, tugging at the zipper of his fly. She made short work of his jeans and boxers, unceremoniously tossing them aside.
Greg gritted his teeth and blew out a labored moan as her gentle fingers wrapped around him snugly. C'mon, Sanders, discipline, he thought. She chuckled hoarsely on top of him, and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Greg took this opportunity to flip her back onto the bedspread, and yanked the thin cotton panties down her legs and off her body in one fluid motion.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear, pleased when she shivered involuntarily at his words. He reached out, and traced the shaped of her breast lightly with his fingers. In shifting, his erection rubbed up the side of her inner thigh.
"Oh God, Greg." He caught her hand, however, as it shot out to feel him between their bodies. She moaned again as he let out that throaty laugh into her ear.
"Not just yet." He twisted her arm up over her head, immobilizing her hand. Her other hand had found it's way to his hip, but it wasn't going to be in the way there, so he let it stay. He slid his free hand between their bodies, and just as she began to protest, she felt the jolt run through her veins as his fingers found her most sensitive spot. Her hips bucked into his hand, and she squirmed beneath him, crumpling the sheets.
"Please, Greg." Her features scrunched into a tormented expression, the walls around her heart were caving in, and he could only watch as the stoic, guarded Sara burnt to nothing, leaving this new emotive, womanly side of Sara, his Sara, that he had known was there, buried in her, all along. He smiled, quickening his rhythm.
"Just tell me what you want." She let out an exasperated groan.
"You," she breathed, "are torturing me." He chuckled into her kiss, and slipped into her, reluctant to cause her any more unresolved tension, unable to deny her what he had dreamed of since his days in the DNA lab.
…………
Greg awoke the next morning noticing two things instantly. One, the midday sunlight was blinding him. Two, his pillow had breasts. He squinted in the light, and propped himself up onto his elbow, casting his gaze towards Sara's sleeping form. The sunshine tumbled over her bare shoulder, falling into his eyes. She was turned toward him on her side, and he was facing her, arm still tossed casually over her hip, legs still tangled in her own. Slowly and gently, Greg untangled his legs from Sara's, and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to disturb her, as he climbed out of bed. He picked his boxers up from the floor, and slipping them over his hips as he silently made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. And a tee shirt. He needed to find a tee shirt.
He found his tee shirt from yesterday in the hall, and pulled it over his head. He made his way to the kitchen, and silently rummaged through Sara's cabinets until he located the coffee tin, and the filters. Today was going to be difficult; they would have to determine the nature of their relationship. But right now, in the early afternoon sunlight, Greg was content to just make coffee, and head back into the bedroom and pull Sara against him, and whisper in her sleeping ear that he loved her, and he would never leave her.
Greg poured freshly brewed coffee into two large mugs, and set about fixing Sara's the way she liked it. He made his way back to the bedroom, and set the steamy mugs down on the nightstand. He climbed back into bed, and pulled Sara's sleeping body towards his, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and pressed gentle kisses to her bare shoulder.
Slowly, Sara began to stir.
"Mmmmpht." Sara noticed two things instantly. One, the early afternoon sunshine was burning her corneas. And two, her blanket had arms. And a body. And it was Greg.
She felt him press a soft kiss to her shoulder, and a surge of warmth spread from the contact. She snuggled into his embrace, and slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she opened them, she was greeted with the sight of Greg with his arm thrown back over her hip, holding her close, with a signature lopsided grin of his face.
"Good morning, sunshine." Greg pushed a stray hair out of her eyes, and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"Good morning yourself." He rolled over to the nightstand, releasing her body. She groaned at the loss of contact, but he handed her a mug of coffee that was still steaming. She accepted the coffee, and sat up, cross-legged, to face him. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, Greg staring at his feet, which were laid out on the bed, Sara staring into the vat of coffee in her hands.
"We should talk about this." Sara raised her gaze from the coffee to Greg's face.
"Agreed." He sat up, mimicking her position, his legs inches away from her own. Sara smiled as she was reminded of the end of some Molly Ringwald movie from the eighties. It was Greg who spoke first. "Where should we start?"
"I think I'd want to start at 'Wow.'" She raised the coffee to her lips.
"That was definitely the best sex I've ever had."
"Where do we go from here?"
"Wherever you want." Panic flashed across his expression as she bit her lip, and hesitated.
"I want it all, Greg. I just want to be happy." Panic turned to astonished joy, and Greg smile widened to a grin not unlike that of a small child on Christmas morning.
"I promise to make you happy."
"You already do."
Greg closed the short distance between them, and kissed her in earnest, plucking the half empty mug of coffee from her hands, and laying her back on the bed to kiss her all over again. Her laughter rang through the room.
He had wanted this for six years, but hearing her, seeing her, touching her, kissing her, laying on top of her was overwhelmed with the sensation of coming home, and Greg Sanders knew that all he ever wanted, all he ever needed, all he would ever love, was wriggling beneath him, laughing in his ear, and kissing him back with a new brand of passion he had already fallen a victim to.