'I'm just going to brush my teeth.' She leans away from him, uncurling herself from his warmth. His arm reluctantly dropping to his lap, then crashing down onto the empty warm seat next to him, as she hauls herself up slowly, working out the kinks. He glances down at his watch now resting on the soft leather of her sofa, trying to not draw her attention to his actions.

'Bed already?' His eyes scale her long form in front of him as she stretchers her arms out, their shift was long, slow and laborious. Four hours hunched over a heavy shag pile rug in the layout room has made her back seize up in ways which makes her feel 83 rather than 33 years old right now. She turns slowly towards him, her hands falling to her hips. She stares at him for a second or five, as if it's obvious.

'No… We had Indian food, I have onion breath.' He smirks, looking down at the floor then shuffles to the edge of the sofa, closer to her, raising his hands to uncurl hers from her sides.

'I don't mind.' He pulls her closer, her warm skin, his new sanctuary, edging inch by inch closer to him with every gentle tug. 'Stay.' He nods down back to her vacant spot next to him. Their film paused on the television screen, plates across the coffee table, half-drunk glasses of sugar free soda bubbling away happily.

'Two minutes. Then I'll be right back.' She slips backwards just out of his embrace but close still, smiling at the clingy adorable side of Gilbert Grissom she seems to have uncovered this past week. He slumps back into the sofa, and watches helplessly as she leaves him alone in the cosy room. Heading into the bathroom she pushes a serious amount of toothpaste out onto her toothbrush and hacks away at the dreaded onion breath. Content with the knowledge that bad breath won't send him running from a kiss or two. Rinsing her toothbrush out and placing it back in the cup on the side of her sink she looks up into the mirror, her eyes falling to his as he stalks from the doorway.

'It's been two minutes.' He leans against the doorframe with one hand, the other reaching out for her. She doesn't turn but haunts his gaze in the bathroom mirror.

'You've really got it bad, haven't you?' She wipes a drop of toothpaste from the corner of her mouth and tilts her head to the side smiling.

'Yes.' He steps into the room, flicking the light switch off as he comes to stand behind her. But not touching. God, she wants him to touch her. 'Are you finished?' The glow from the mid-morning Vegas sun shines into the room, basking them in a soft orange haze.

'Yes.' He skates a hand up her arm and back down, the other slipping around her hip to rest on her lower stomach, below her belly button.

'Come sit with me.' He rubs her skin, his breath tickling her neck, the tiny baby hairs standing on end. Her hands thrust out to the sinks edge and her head rolls down to look at the tile floor, she's holding onto the porcelain for dear life. She pushes her hips back, bumping herself into him. He groans quietly in her ear. 'Sara…' She looks back up into the mirror, his dark eyes waiting for her there. 'Please.' She nods and begins to turn; he takes half a step backwards to give her the space to spin around. A hand brushes up over his beard and cheek.

'I think I want to go to bed.' She smiles, then licks her lips.

'Yeah?' He eyes her over his glasses.

'Yes.' She bites her bottom lip. He steps back but she stays put.

'I haven't got a toothbrush…' He quirks an eyebrow towards the ceiling.

'I have a spare.' She steps forward, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

'I haven't got anything to sleep in.' He raises a hand to finger the dark curls escaping her hair elastic at the nape of her neck.

'You have a t shirt, your underwear?' She confirms, knowing he always wears a t shirt under his shirts, even in the Vegas heat.

'It's still early?' He flashes his watch up a beat, not even looking at it, the gesture more for dramatics.

'We've just finished a double.' She retorts, fingers sliding down the front of the shirt, caressing button after button. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes as her hand shifts lower and lower.

'I'm not tired.'

'I don't plan on sleeping.' She purses her lips, but he doesn't see as his eyes are slammed shut. She stops at his belt, holding her hand there for a millisecond before sliding it around his hip pulling him closer again. Their faces are centimetres apart, their breaths mingling together. His eyes peel open.

'I've ran out of excuses.' He smiles and chuckles lightly.

'Took you long enough.'

She pushes him back gently out of the room, both hands firmly on his chest, guiding him into the living area. Side stepping to the door she rattles the handle, checking its locked. He pulls her other hand still on his chest down and pulls her quickly towards her bedroom. In the room she shuts the door, pausing for a moment before turning to find him stood at the foot of her bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, too damn slow. She strides to him, almost floating and knocks his hands away. Taking the matter into her own hands, riding him of the shirt in mere seconds. It drops to the floor behind him. He maintains eye contact as he reaches for his belt, slipping the leather out of the buckle, he snaps the button open and drags the zipper down slowly. The sound is so loud its almost deafening. His trousers hang open but stay on his hips. She holds his gaze as her nimble fingers find the waist band and push down harshly, the fabric folding down to rest around his ankles. Stepping out of them carefully he kicks them to one side. He slips a hand under the strap of her tank, pushing the cotton down her shoulder where it rests hanging around her upper arm, his other hand pulling at the ties of her sweatpants.

'I feel like I can't breathe.' He whispers into the cool shadows of the room as he looks down at his hand, seeming like it has a mind of its own.

'Is that good or…?' She rolls her hands up and over his shoulders pulling him closer, ghosting her lips over his. ' Or should I call an ambulance?' She skims her mouth across his cheek, coming to rest on his neck as she shimmies the sweatpants down off her hips, leaving her stood in her underwear. He looks down, at the simple black panties she has on show to him now.

'I don't need an ambulance.' Fingers tease the band of her panties.

'What do you need Gil?' Her hand pushes up under his t shirt, her cold hands skimming across his stomach, reaching up to his chest.

'This.'