Disclaimer: I don't own them, but don't they play so nice when I have them?


Chapter 3: Falling

The strange thing about dating Sara Sidle was the tempo we set for ourselves. We knew immediately that we'd had a connection… knew that we were attracted to each other, wanted each other, and that something was going to happen between us. Yet at the same time, she was fifteen years my junior, not graduated from college, and there was a wall of no-discussion between us.

I almost wondered if it wouldn't be better for her to lie, and continue avoidance tactics, rather than the blatant honesty of her secrets. Still, by the third night together, we had managed a way to discuss our way around the stories, communicating mostly the details. The basics.

She had a late lecture that she had really wanted to attend, so she had given me a key to her apartment—as I said, everything was fast. It seemed perfectly natural that she should give me a key, and that I should make myself at home while she was busy. I went shopping, after briefly sifting through her cupboards, and had a meal ready and candles on the table when she arrived home.

We hadn't kissed yet—I wasn't certain whether I was going to wait for the diploma or not, and I think she sensed that indecision. So, if it was going to happen, it was up to me. She did embrace me tightly, as soon as she came in the door.

"Gil… this is too much. You shouldn't have—"

I place a gentle finger to her mouth, to silence her, and our eyes find each other. The finger gently runs over those incredibly soft lips and trembles, but I try to keep my head on. "It isn't too much. Come sit down."

I pull the chair out for her and she slips into it.

After losing Joshua, I had lost a lot of myself. So when it came to women, once I noticed them again, I had been awkward, bumbling, on the rare dates I had been on. Sara seemed to erase that. It seemed only natural that I should touch her, run my hands over her arms, guide her gently by the small of her back to the table, scoot her in once she's seated, and let my fingertips trail delicately over the nape of her neck as I move into the kitchen, bringing out the meal I had prepared: Homemade ravioli, stuffed with manicotti, and covered in a rich gorgonzola sauce, a few mushrooms and artichokes slipped in for variety. Her eyes lit up as I set it on her little table and seated myself beside her.

"This looks amazing… you didn't make this, did you?"

I chuckle, now pouring wine into each of our glasses. "I did a lot of the cooking, at home, after my dad died. My mom had always worked, but she had to go to working full-time, after that… so I would have dinner ready when she got home. At first it was… grilled cheese, soup from a can, you know? But as I got older, I got better."

She smiles endearingly, and her low voice is gentle. I find myself wondering if her afterglow sounds like that. "When did he die?"

I feel a slight twinge, but I meet her eyes. "I was nine. I… I think it was heat stroke. It had been a hot day, and he came in and lay down on the couch to take a nap, while I was watching television… I guess it could have been something else too—stroke, heart attack, aneurism… I don't know. They wouldn't tell me, at the time, and my mom, she… she fell apart, for a while. When she was finally better, I was afraid to bring him up to ask."

She takes a drink, as I slowly fill our individual plates and sit again. "Did you like your dad?"

I take a bite. "Yeah, I really did. He was a botanist, so I think he's the reason I liked science… and bugs. I spent a lot of time in the greenhouse, with him."

She smiles softly, and takes a bite too. I'm watching her, nervous about my cooking, though I normally wouldn't be. She closes her eyes sensually and puckers her lips slightly, as she chews, and then they flutter open, to look at me. "Gil… this, this is amazing."

I grin. "Don't be fooled, I made my very best recipe. It can only get worse from here…"

She smiles, taking another sensual bite, as if heaven is in her mouth. It just might be… I think to myself, and have to distract myself from that train of thought. It'll only get me in trouble… "Worse than this might still be the best I've ever had." She smiles coyly, eyes training on me again. "If you keep cooking, I might have to come up with a few incentives to get you stay…"

My mouth feels dry, and I'm no longer able to distract myself. "Oh? I'd be glad to keep cooking, stick around for a while… if the incentives are enticing enough."

I jump about a foot in the air when I feel her soft toes under my pant leg, sliding up my calf. She giggles at my surprise, letting the foot brush my thigh before removing it. "You wouldn't be disappointed."

I take a deep breath, to steady myself, and she giggles softly again. "You, apparently, are quite the tease, Miss Sidle…"

She takes another bite, and then licks her lips softly. I practically groan out loud at the sight of her tongue, but I know that she knows what she's doing to me, and I contain it, managing to look politely disinterested. "I'm only a tease if I don't have any intention of following through…"

My eyes shoot up to hers, and it is with concentrated effort that I take a drink of wine and still my voice. "I, uh… I don't really think you're old enough to be talking like that."

She laughs. "Are you telling me to stop?" She spears an artichoke with a ravioli and pops it into her mouth. It is with surprise that I realize she's cleared her plate, while mine is half-full. I grin, placing another scoop on her plate.

"I'm telling you that you're playing with fire…"

She giggles, and we finish our meal quickly—despite her foot sliding up my pant leg once more. I stand and clear the dishes away, putting them in her dishwasher and starting the load—I don't want her to have to do any clean up from the night. I jump when I feel her behind me. He giggles come softly again, as I turn, and I feel the urge to stifle them with my lips. My hands find her hips, even in the dark of the kitchen, and she moves a little closer to me.

"So, Dr. Grissom," she whispers seductively, "what was your plan for the rest of the evening…?"

My hands tighten on her waist. "Well, I thought we could take a walk on the beach… or spend the evening in, watching a movie or…" She moved closer to me again, and my words die on my lips. I swallow hard, and she smiles in the darkness.

"You're nervous, Gil… why?"

I take a deep breath. "I, uh… I want you… so badly, but… but I sincerely want to wait. I… god, you just… you love to test my self control, don't you?"

She smiles again, and presses her body against mine. I tremble, and her head comes down to lie on my chest. "Yes, I do. …Why… Why do you want to wait?"

"I, uh… I've never slept with anyone that I… cared about… after three days. I always waited… three, four weeks, if not more. I… Sara, I don't just… want to sleep with you, I… you've just taken me so completely off guard, here. I care about you, and I respect you, and I… want to do right by you… but I don't think I've ever felt so passionate about a woman in my entire life."

She hugs me tighter. "Well, I mean… you don't have to do anything like that, tonight. You could… just hold me, talk to me, fall asleep with me…?"

I feel butterflies in my stomach and warmth spreading from my center to my extremities. I nod against the top of her head, letting my arms wrap tightly around her. "I would love to."

We hold each other for a moment, and then she slips from me, taking my hand in hers, and leading me back to her bedroom—the only room in her apartment I have not yet been in. She turns on the light, and glances at me. "I, uh… I have some sweats you could wear… if you wanted."

I half-smile, taking in the neat bedroom—a purple bedspread over cream-colored sheets, books on the nightstands, a full-length mirror in the corner, beside her dark-stained dresser. "I doubt they'd fit me…"

"I buy them big; I don't like feeling constricted in my pajamas…" She moves to the dresser and pulls out a pair of gray sweat pants, with the word 'Harvard' printed vertically down the left calf, and a large white t-shirt. I can't help but grin as she hands them to me.

"Do you… sleep in these?"

She blushes, softly. "When it's cold, or it rains… I had a pair just like them in Boston, I wore them all winter… but they were so torn up I had to order another pair… I, uh… I'm gonna go get the candles and the wine… if that's okay. …So you can change."

She leaves and I change quickly, folding my clothes neatly and setting them off to the side. She knocks softly, and then swings the door open, the bottle of wine and our two emptied glasses in tow. She sets them on the nightstand, and leaves to get candles—I help her, and then step outside the room, my back to the open door, so she can change too.

I hear the lights flicker off, and I turn around—she's in a tank top and loose-fitting black shorts. It's the first time I've seen so much of her skin, and I realize after a moment that my mouth is open. I quickly close it, and she smiles. She moves around to the far side of the bed, and slips under the covers, and I move without really thinking, to slide in the side closest to me—the sheets are soft, the mattress plush; she cares about comfort.

Immediately she's curled against my side, her head on my chest, and I look down at her.

The light flickers across her—her hair falling into a messy yet beautiful cascade over her shoulders and mine—bringing out the subtle red tones in her hair and throwing the lines of her face and the curves of her body into striking shadow and adorning glow. The sight of her literally takes me breath away, and I take a moment to recapture it before daring to speak.

"You're… so beautiful, Sara, in the candlelight…"

She smiles softly, looking up at me. "…Tell me something… about you. Something nobody who knows you now would know…"

I think, running over who those people would be, anyway. My mom… and anyone in Vegas—Jim knew about Amber and Laura, and I wasn't sure how to bring that up anyway. Becky had known almost everything, but I didn't suppose she counted anymore, did she? I think of something, and hesitate briefly, but continue. It feels like I could tell this woman anything.

"…I didn't lose my virginity until I was twenty-three years old…"

Her eyes shoot up to mine in surprise—not judgment, just honest confusion. "…really? Why… why not?"

"I didn't fall in love until then…" I know my face is red, and I'm thankful for the darkness, but she doesn't seem put off by this information. She leans up, brushing those gorgeous lips gently across my cheek and then again in the crook of my neck, her hair tickling the whole way. Goose bumps trail down my arms.

"You really are an amazing man, Gil."

I don't expect this—I turn my head, and my face is mere inches from where she had rested hers after the contact with my neck. I breathe in deeply. "You're the amazing one, Sara… I…" I'm at a loss for words, to describe how thoroughly she enthralls me, and I bring a hand up to rest on her cheek, letting my thumb caress her softly, before leaning down and kissing her gently.

I don't even remember deciding to do it—I just remember how good and right it felt.

She draws breath in sharply, pressing her lips into the kiss, and my own breath catches in my throat again. It's soft, gentle, but somehow still communicates longing and desire and devotion. When we pull apart, we're both smiling, a little breathless, staring into each other's eyes. Hers are precisely the shade of molten milk-chocolate, and deep and seductive, in this moment.

A strange look crosses her face, and I see it immediately. "…What is it?"

"I… Gil, my… first time… I was sixteen."

I smile softly, understanding the change in her face and voice now. "Sara, I don't care… you… you didn't have to tell me that, but… I would never judge you. If you were ready, at sixteen, you were ready."

A smile breaks across her beautiful face, filling me up with warmth, and I'm stealing her lips again, my hands running gently through her hair. Again, we're breathless as we break the kiss. She curls closer to me, burying her head in my chest. We sit this way, contented, for a few blissful moments, and then her voice comes softly again.

"So, since we're sharing…"

My eyes narrow, and my arm around her gently strokes her back. "Yes…?"

"How, uh… how many people… have you been with?"

"…Eight." She nods, slowly, and I'm forced to ask her, because she doesn't volunteer the information. "How many… have you been with?"

She swallows hard, "Three. … Well… No, just… just three."

I hesitate, uncertain if I should laugh at her confusion, and uncertain if I can ask. "You're… not sure?"

She stammers, but manages to get out, "Uh… well… you see… how… how would you… define, 'been with'?"

I make a face, trying not to mirror her discomfort. "Well, to be… technical, I suppose… two consensual adults—well, maybe not adults, I guess—" I amend, nudging her and feeling relieved when she smiles at my joke. It's good to see the smile again. "Who… have sex. Like… full penetration, sex, not… uh," I cough, uncomfortably, "fellatio or… uh… cunnilingus. …I …I'm tempted to include… finishing… the act, but… I think I'll leave that out… of my definition."

She giggles at my discomfort, but still responds softly. "Three then. Just three."

I chuckle. "Why the confusion?"

She bites her bottom lip. I kiss her forehead softly. "I won't ask about it, okay honey?"

The endearment slips from my lips unconsciously, and I feel her tense as she hears it—I worry, but then I feel her lips on mine again. They're more passionate, and my hands tangle in her silky chocolate strands instead of just running through them gently, and I feel her body pressing against mine. We're panting this time, as we part, our foreheads pressed together, as she looks into my eyes. "…I can't tell you how good that sounded."

I grin. "Apparently I have a secret weapon… honey."

Her eyes flash and her lips are on mine again, and I don't know whether she's playing along or whether it actually affects her that way, but I can't bring myself to care. One hand holds the back of her neck, gently, hair still between my fingers, while the other is sliding gently over the small of her back, just under the tank top, pulling her closer to me.

She moans softly as my fingers slip under the fabric, and I tremble, kissing her more forcefully, gripping her more tightly, and sliding my tongue into her mouth, without thinking, in a sudden moment of unrestrained passion. She giggles and pulls away, her breathing heavy. "Apparently I have one too…"

I feel my face heat, and she grins, resting her lips against mine softly—we both want to deepen it, but we hold back, and she settles against my chest again. "…Gil?"

I nod against the top of her head, gently stroking her back—over her tank top—again. "Yes?"

"You said… eight? And… in the kitchen, you said you'd always waited weeks when it was… someone you cared about." I nod again, and she continues. "Have you… were any of them… one-night stands?"

I sigh softly, sadly. "…half of them."

Her eyebrows raise, and I feel ashamed of myself. I hadn't meant for half of my intimate relationships to be meaningless—I had always preferred making love to having sex—and I hope she doesn't think the worst of me, because of it. To my surprise, she sighs in relief. My eyes narrow. "You're… relieved?"

She laughs a little, seeming embarrassed. "Well, I… one of mine was, and… it bothered me, a lot. But I put it behind me, you know, until… you came along. And then I felt like… you're this amazing man who didn't have sex until he was twenty-three because he wasn't in love and… I didn't want to hide it, but I was afraid…"

I squeeze her tightly. "Sara, honey, you need to stop worrying. I'm not going to change how I feel about you, no matter what you tell me you've done …okay? I promise."

She nods, snuggling closer again, and we have another moment of silence, before she continues. "Who… who were they? The one-night stands."

I take a deep breath. "One was in L.A. The girl who had been… my first… we'd broken up, and I'd seen her, in a bar… with someone else. I, uh… I got ridiculously intoxicated, and took home the first long-legged brunette who'd have me. …Not really something I'm proud of."

She smiles softly, and I feel one of her long legs slip over mine, settling between them. "You like long-legged brunettes, huh?"

I laugh. "I do, yes…"

"…the others?"

"One in Chicago… we were in a class together, she asked me to help her study for a test. I came over, and she had her textbooks and notebooks spread out on the bed… So that's where we started to study. I, uh… I bought her a new textbook, because we'd ripped so many pages from the one that had been beneath us… I asked her, afterward, if I could take her to dinner… She told me no." I shrug, softly, and feel her shaking against me. I'm afraid she's crying until sound finally escapes her—she's laughing at me. Indignantly, "It's not funny!"

She laughs out loud. "Poor Gil, she totally used you…" She giggles, "I'm sorry… it shouldn't be funny but… you seem so indignant, still, that she wouldn't have dinner with you after you…" She's rolling around on the bed laughing now, and I can't help but smile, imagining her rolling there in pleasure rather than amusement. I shake the thoughts away again.

I kiss her, deeply, to stop the laughter, and she stills, returning the kiss fervently. When I pull away, I see the hunger in her eyes—the reluctance to let me go. I grin. "Who was yours?"

Her eyebrows shoot up, and I realize this is one of those questions. But she answers me. Abruptly.

"Ken Fuller."

I sense that no follow up is allowed. Instead, I dip my head down again and kiss her until she's breathless, and then wrap my arms around her.

"Sleep, my sweet Sara, or I promise you, we'll be up all night…"