A/N:

A family reunion (💛) and sexy good times (💕)? You bet. (Both in one chapter—but not together!)

NOTE ON RATING: LAST SCENE = M(ATURE)

As previously mentioned, I am finally going to give our two lovely science nerds some "on-screen" satisfaction. đź’•

I have not changed the rating for this story as a whole. But the last scene of this chapter is, I believe, adult, NSFW, mature content (although the emphasis is still on the emotions rather than the literal ins and outs of it, if you'll pardon the pun). Please proceed accordingly.

If you'd prefer to skip over that last scene, just stop reading when you get to the sub-title "Indiscreet." You will have absolutely no trouble picking the story up again next week! đź’›

All that being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter! đź’›

Fall 2015. The Southern Coast and Marina del Rey, California.

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

[…]

And in a white sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you

– Ben Folds, "The Luckiest."

Sail away with me honey
I put my heart in your hands
Sail away with me honey now, now, now
Sail away with me
What will be will be
I want to hold you now, now, now

– David Gray, "Sail Away."

Laughter in Paradise

On the morning of the two lovely science nerds' fourth full day back together—another picturesque early fall day in southern California—Gil Grissom heard a splash off the side of the Ishmael, while he was otherwise occupied in the head. As quickly as he could, he went running to see the source of the sound.

He looked down once he'd reached the starboard and, as he'd feared, saw a brunette head in the water. He gaped down at her until words returned to his brain. "Sar— What are you doing?"

"I'm swimming." She thought that should be pretty obvious.

"You're going to freeze!"

"It's September in southern California. I'm not going to freeze."

"It's October."

"Barely," she said, after doing the math. "And I'm still not going to freeze." She was treading water, but she tilted herself back to look at the bright blue southern California sky above, which was decorated with wisps of white clouds. Logically Sara knew it was the same blue sky as in Nevada, but somehow it felt different. "Just look at that sky!"

"It's lovely," he said, without taking his eyes off the woman in the water.

She resumed her previous vertical position and directed her gaze back to the man on the boat. "Do you never go swimming, Gil?"

"No."

"No, you don't go swimming?"

"No, I don't go swimming."

"You live on a boat, and you never go swimming?"

"Correct."

"That doesn't sound very fun."

"It's not about fun."

"I think it should be."

"What are you even wearing—did you bring a bathing suit?"

"No…."

He looked more closely down at her bare shoulders and then more closely below the water at her bare— "Oh."

"I think you should come swimming with me, Gilbert."

He didn't move.

"If we're going to live together on a boat, we're going to have to have some fun with it."

"I told you we don't have to—"

"It's not about the boat, Gil. Regardless of where we live, we need to have some fun."

"Fun?" Fun had exited Grissom's life at the same time as his wife had. He hadn't really had the heart for fun anymore.

"Yeah, fun. You know, like roach racing or riding roller coasters. Taking canoe trips. Skinny-dipping with your ex-wife, perhaps…."

Grissom tried to ignore the small shiver that went down his spine at the sound of his least favorite term emerging from her lips.

"Fun," Sara concluded.

"Fun…." Grissom tried to focus on what she was offering. He mused this over. He hadn't even been on a roller coaster in years, let alone raced roaches, or—

"Are you worried about the cold?" She gestured with her head before arching an eyebrow. "Because it's been seventeen years now, and I've certainly never had any compl—"

"Thank you, Sara."

"Oh, just come be happy with me, Gil. I can't see a reason in the world for us not to be happy right now." Sara was still treading water, but she thought she'd like to move forward a little.

"Happy?"

"Happy."

"Me swimming in the ocean with you will make you happy?"

"Very happy." She smiled coyly.

"All right, just…."

He disappeared from Sara's view. When he reappeared, he was clad only in his boxers. "Yesssss!" she exclaimed. She'd have preferred if he ditched the boxers, but it was a start, and she wasn't about to complain.

With a splash, he plunged down into the water, and she started to swim back toward him.

He put up a hand to stop her. "Just give me a minute." After a moment, he brought his boxers out of the water and threw them back up over the side of the boat.

"Oh, that's my man!" Sara laughed and resumed swimming over to him. Once she'd reached him, she held onto the ladder with one arm, and her free arm she threw around his neck as she kissed him.

After some time, they both broke away to regain their grip on the ladder.

"So, fun?"

"Fun, Gilbert. Fun. Be happy."

"Okay. Fun," he said, and then again he kissed her.

These two lovely science nerds had spent not even four days together on (and off) the Ishmael, but already they'd both begun to revel in the true depths of what this new life together offered them.

Bringing Up Baby

Later that same morning, Sara and Grissom headed to Betty's. When they arrived at the house, Grissom used his key to open the door, then he tracked his mother down to the kitchen. Despite still being deeply disappointed in her son for having divorced Sara, Betty was always thrilled to see him—even if, in her disappointment, she tried to hide it sometimes.

Grissom told his mother he'd brought a guest with him, and Betty didn't know what to make of this. Sara was the only person Grissom had brought home since his college girlfriend. Betty was clearly trying not to show her displeasure. Grissom explained that someone had joined him on the Ishmael. Betty didn't know who would be out of their mind enough for that, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But it seemed she must.

When she saw her son's guest, however, Betty was overjoyed, and it wasn't long before the younger—and much taller—woman was wrapped up in Mrs. Grissom's embrace.

Then, over Betty's shoulder, Sara's eyes caught the real prize. Though one of them was more than a little bit slower than he used to be, once again brown-haired woman and brown-furred (but sugar-faced) dog flew at each other. Sara booped his snout then kissed it. Pretty soon they were wrapped up together on the floor, and the sounds of "Who's my good boy? Oh, Hanky, you handsome man, I've missed you! Who's my good boy?" echoed throughout the house.

Many years earlier, Sara and Grissom had together decided that, as they were physically separated and both working full time, it was only fair to Hank to allow him to continue living the good life in seaside southern California with the mostly retired Betty. Still, that hadn't stopped Sara from missing Hank, whom she hadn't seen in person since her last trip to Marina del Rey before the divorce. Grissom had at least more recently had the benefit of occasionally spending some quality time with the very good boy at his mother's house, and he was again happy to be invisible for a moment while Sara's reunion with the distinguished older pup took place.

That night, the whole family—Sara, Grissom, Betty, and Hank—enjoyed dinner together in Betty's backyard. Sara thought they made for a pretty good family. Later that night, Grissom agreed with Sara that they should stay with his mother for a couple more nights at least, as she really had been so very overjoyed to see them.

The next morning, Sara awoke early to the feeling of a wet nose nudging her hand. Uncertain of Hank's current morning routine, she went downstairs to let the dog out into Betty's fenced backyard, then she went in search of the ground coffee as well as the French press she recalled from previous visits to her former husband's childhood home. While the coffee steeped, she looked out into the backyard to make sure Hank was okay as he did his morning perusal of the shrubbery.

Having prepared cups of coffee for Grissom and herself, Sara went to join the dog, with the intention of bringing him back inside and Grissom's coffee upstairs. First, though, she sat down in the doorway with her feet on the low wooden deck, and Hank made his way over and sat in front of her.

Sara knew not all dogs appreciated being hugged, but she also knew from many years of experience that Hank was not one of those dogs. So she put her arms around him and inhaled his wholesome doggy scent. After a minute she pulled away and looked him in his big brown eyes. She kissed his snout again. She wondered whether he understood how she felt; in her heart, she believed he did.

As she scratched him behind his ears in the special place he loved that only she could find, she whispered to him what she was feeling. "Oh, I missed you so much, buddy. I missed you every day. I never stopped missing you. I hope you know that."

She sensed someone behind her. "I never stopped missing you, either," she added, as she turned around to look at her ex. "Did you get your coffee from the table? Sorry, I got a bit waylaid."

"Yeah."

Sara scooted over so Grissom could join her. He sat down with his back against the doorframe, then she twisted a little and leaned back into him. Grissom reached over and took over the task of giving the boxer a good scratch—in the special place Hank loved that only he could find—while Sara sipped her coffee.

Grissom kissed the top of Sara's head. He had absolutely, without a doubt, never stopped missing her either. He needed to say it. He'd already said it, more than once, but she deserved to hear it again. She deserved to hear it every day. She deserved everything he could give her.

"Never," he whispered in her ear. "I absolutely never stopped missing you, either, Sara."

Sara and Grissom spent that day and those that followed catching up with Betty and Hank. When Betty had previous obligations, they and Hank spent time relaxing at Betty's house, going for leisurely outdoor meals, and taking rambling walks through the neighborhood and to the seaside.

They visited some of the local boutiques, so Sara wouldn't have to spend quite so much time in Grissom's oversized clothes (which, in truth, she had quite enjoyed, as they all smelled faintly of him and the sea). In front of one shop, Sara stopped to look at a pretty necklace in the window, and, before she could protest, Grissom had bought it for her—one present down, many more to go.

As Sara and Grissom wandered, they would often run into Betty's various neighbors, both newer and more long-term, many of whom Grissom knew, and Grissom was for the most part really terribly happy to be able to introduce Sara to them all.

Indiscreet

Sara Sidle had never expected to be here again, lying on her back in the backyard of her ex-husband's childhood home, looking up at a bright blue southern California sky.

She certainly hadn't imagined it a few weeks earlier, when she had, alone, celebrated her birthday—her real, September 16th birthday. After her father had died so near to the date, she'd stopped celebrating her birthday. When she'd gone off to Harvard, she'd picked a new date, a date in honor of an actor whose movies she'd admired, something at a completely different time of year, and, when forced, she'd celebrated that instead.

When she'd explained this to Grissom, he'd insisted they celebrate both birthdays. He'd said she was more than worth celebrating twice per year, and how could she turn down a man who'd say something like that. But, once he'd left her life, she'd gone back to spending her birthday alone.

So a few weeks earlier she'd bought herself a cupcake, and she'd brought it home, and she'd stuck a single candle in it. She hadn't wished for happiness; she hadn't imagined she'd ever again find that. She'd wished simply for peace of mind—or, more accurately, a peaceful mind, a mind that didn't spend quite so much time questioning what she could have done to make her marriage turn out differently, a mind that could look back with equanimity on what she'd had—and on what she'd lost.

When she'd blown out her candle and made that wish, Sara Sidle had certainly never expected to be here again, lying on her back in the backyard of her ex-husband's childhood home, looking up at a bright blue southern California sky.

She'd brought outside with her a book as well as a stack of beach towels to use as blankets and pillows for the wooden lounge chairs. She'd laid out towels on the two lounge chairs, but she'd still been sitting up on the side of one of them, reading her book, when Grissom had come outside to join her. Hank—stretched out nearby on the low wooden deck on which the lounge chairs were located—had thumped his tail lazily at Grissom's approach.

Grissom had sat down beside her on the lounge chair, his denim-clad leg just touching her bare skin, his mostly bare arm just touching hers, setting the pale hairs on her arm on end. He'd told her his mom would be out for several hours, visiting a friend in hospice care (as Betty herself had previously informed her). Then he'd started reading his own book.

She'd always been distracted by his proximity, but these days she had trouble paying attention to anything but him. He must have been as distracted by her proximity as she had been by his, because it hadn't been long before she'd begun tasting the Smith's Minted Rose Lip Balm she'd recently applied, fed back to her by his soft lips.

The kiss had started sweetly enough, his lips gently embracing hers, but it had almost immediately intensified, as was virtually inevitable in these initial days of their renewed relationship. She'd been almost too distracted by the deft movements of his lips over hers to be impressed by the swiftness with which he'd soon managed to remove both her shirt and her bra. When she'd noticed what he'd accomplished, she'd leaned back onto the half-reclined lounge chair and smiled up at him.

He'd looked down at her with half-lidded eyes, and she'd bitten her lip, and she'd known what would happen next was almost unavoidable, as if it had been written in the stars.

There were different moods to Gil Grissom's intimate glances: sometimes she felt as though he were an amused schoolboy, and she his end-of-term gift; sometimes she felt like a goddess he was about to worship; sometimes just his eyes told her she was the only woman he could ever love. This glance, though, was the most intense, and perhaps the most intimate: this glance spoke of nothing but lust.

His body had followed hers down onto the half-reclined lounge chair, and again her lips had eagerly met his. His hand had roamed down, first as far as her stomach, but eventually finding its way back up to her breasts. The kiss had continued as intensely as before they'd temporarily broken apart. After some time had passed, his lips too had begun to roam down, over her neck, over her clavicle, and toward her bare breasts.

Sara Sidle had never expected to be here again, lying on her back in the backyard of her ex-husband's childhood home, looking up at a bright blue southern California sky, with her ex-husband's warm mouth over her pert right breast, tongue gently caressing, as his right hand fondled the other, his thumb circling her hardened nipple.

With her right hand, she massaged the back of his neck. With his right hand, he roamed down farther still now, over her shorts, between her legs, massaging, using the stiff fabric to his advantage.

She moaned loudly, and Hank stood up, concerned, and started to walk toward them.

She turned her head. "Oh, it's okay, buddy," she managed to tell him. "You can lie down again."

Obligingly, the boxer circled around himself, tail again thumping, and curled himself into a doggy donut in the sun.

Meanwhile, her ex-husband was continuing his ministrations: his tongue curling around her nipple, his hand using her shorts to create and then to release pressure. Sara squirmed in her seat.

When she again moaned loudly, and the dog again looked up, Sara began to question the suitability of their surroundings for their current activity.

"Gil, this is…." Hank had in years past witnessed more intimate encounters than this, but it was not a large backyard, and she wasn't sure if any of the neighbors had small children. If only she weren't enjoying quite so much the things her ex-husband was doing with his tongue; if only her underwear weren't quite so wet….

"Gil, this is probably not the…." Sara again squirmed. Get it together, Sidle. She tugged gently on his hair to get his attention, and he paused. "Gil, this is probably not the best place to continue, ah… to continue this."

"Uhhh…. Right."

He'd raised his head, and she could tell he was making calculations as he glanced around the backyard.

After what she assumed was a moment of deliberation, he stood up decisively. "Here, come with me." He handed her the discarded shirt and bra, which she held up over her chest as a makeshift cover-up. He gathered all the towels from the lounge chairs, and he took her free, left hand. He led her down the two short steps to the lawn then toward the old, mostly empty greenhouse that stood in a corner of the yard, fully shaded by an overhanging tree.

Once inside the greenhouse, he shut the door behind them and pushed open a few more windows. He dropped the towels onto an empty wooden bench, then he pressed her against it. Quickly he had her shorts undone and shoved down far enough to give him the access he needed.

"Shirt," she mumbled.

"Hmmm?"

"Shirt, Gil," she stated more clearly. "Off!"

"Oh."

He pulled back, and she pulled the grey t-shirt off him, letting it drop as soon as she had it over his head.

She smiled as she took in the sight before her: the faintly sun-kissed skin, always smooth and welcoming, tempting her hands, tempting her lips, tempting her tongue. Then she pulled him in again. With her arms around his neck, she held him to her, his hot bare chest against hers, warming her in the relative cool of the fully shaded structure. With her mouth, she devoured his—hungrily, almost greedily.

Pressing her against the bench, his hand between her legs, he massaged her with his thumb. Soon enough he'd slipped inside her first one finger, then another—stroking her, caressing her, fucking her, with those gentle and perceptive hands of his.

When she was almost there, though, he stopped and pulled away. She heard herself whimper at the loss of contact. "Baby, I'm so close…" she pleaded. He winked at her, and, if she hadn't felt so desperate, she'd have laughed.

"I want to taste you, honey," he said in a low voice seldom heard outside their bedroom. His eyes remained steady with hers. "May I?"

She heard another muted whimper then, but only later was she able to identify it as also having been her own.

For but a brief moment, his eyes broke from hers. He took a towel from the pile on the bench and laid it on the floor in front of her, then he knelt on top of it. He gazed up at her as he pulled her shorts and underwear down to her ankles; she lifted first one then the other foot for him, and he tossed the garments onto the bench. Next he pulled over a low wooden stool sitting nearby and carefully placed her right foot flat atop it.

The greenhouse was cool and calm, but she was not. She didn't think she could bear the delay much longer. She could feel herself pulsating, almost frantic in her want, in her yearning for his touch, for that moment when he'd finally send her plunging over the edge into bliss.

As a matter of principle, Sara Sidle would only ever beg two beings in this wild world: one—the only lover she'd ever really wanted—was in the greenhouse with her; the other—her dog—was still snoozing lazily on the deck.

"Baby, please…" she again pleaded.

With that, her lover leaned in, his scruff grazing her thighs, and skillfully began to finish the job. Now it was his mouth, his lips, his tongue that took their time exploring her—once again, stroking her, caressing her, fucking her. As much as she yearned for that moment of ultimate bliss, part of her didn't ever want the exploration to end.

"Gil." With her fingers in his hair, holding him close, she called his name when the overwhelming pleasure finally ran through her. "Oh, fuck, Gil." She grabbed the bench behind her for support. "Fuck, yes."

He didn't remove his mouth immediately but kissed her then—gently, lovingly. When her tremors had abated, he raised his head and, reaching higher, kissed her stomach. She held his head there, the fingers of her right hand again running through his lightly dampened greying hair, her fingertips drawing circles over his scalp, as her heartrate began its descent to normal.

Eventually he pulled away, sitting back on his heels. After looking up at her momentarily, the expression on his face telling her he was, as always, pleased with what he'd accomplished, he reached up for more towels from the bench. He spread the towels beside them, on the open floor area of the greenhouse. Then he sat in the middle of the towels, pulling her toward him.

"Lie down first," she instructed, and he obliged. She crouched in front of him, undoing his belt then his jeans. "Up," she instructed, and again he obliged, lifting himself far enough off the ground for her to slide his jeans and boxers down his legs. Once she'd gotten his shoes and socks off him, she pulled the other clothing the rest of the way off and tossed it to the side. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, as she paused to admire his evident arousal.

Then he pulled her to him. Now she was lying atop him. Immediately, her mouth again found his, while his hands wandered over her back, down over her bottom to her thighs, and back up. He held her close, and she reveled in the full-body contact, the hard certainty of his desire for her. They stayed pressed together like that, exploring each other, until Sara felt ready to proceed.

She sat up and positioned herself on him. She loved the feeling of having him inside her, filling her up, quenching her many years of unsatisfied cravings. They moved together, united as two people who'd practiced this dance many, many times before. He reached forward, massaging her with his thumb in exactly the way she liked.

"Yesss," she moaned, big brown eyes looking down at him, dark brown curls cascading wildly down around her face. "Oh, yes. Oh, god. Oh, god, you feel so good, baby."

He gazed up at her throughout, and, though she knew the intensity of his desire had in no way diminished, his look had softened. He gazed up at her like she was the best thing he'd ever seen; she still didn't know how she had ever managed to become divorced from a man who always seemed to look at her like she was the best thing he'd ever seen.

They moved together, rhythmically, still. She couldn't have said how much time had passed before she was again calling his name, feeling the devastating pleasure wash over her, collapsing around him. Then he too was calling her name, and she was collapsing onto him—two sweaty bodies again intertwined, pressed together on the floor of a disused greenhouse.

As they lay there, utterly spent and inexorably intertwined, he moved his hand reassuringly up and down her bare back. Eventually she raised her head to inspect their surroundings more thoroughly—the dirt, the dust, the cobwebs, the bugs. Somehow it felt appropriate for them, and she had to laugh. Then she looked down at Grissom, who was looking up at her, a twinkle in his eyes and a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Sara Sidle had never expected to be here again, lying on her stomach in the backyard of her ex-husband's childhood home, looking down at the bright blue southern California eyes of the only man she'd ever loved.

UP NEXT: NEXT CHAPTER: FALL 2015. MARINA DEL REY, CALIFORNIA AND ONWARD.

NOTES

On the very good boy:

I imagine Sara and Grissom's decision to live apart from Hank being something like their decision to live apart from each other—an initially short-term arrangement that was never intended to lead to an (almost) permanent separation.

On the two people she'd beg:

Sometimes while watching TV* I find myself diving down rabbit holes, looking at decade-old posts on Tumblr. Recently I came across a Tumblr post with this quotation from Jorja Fox: "I personally make it a rule in this beautiful world only to beg two people: my lover and my dog." (I couldn't actually confirm this outside Tumblr, but I still liked it.)

*Streaming things on my laptop.

SOUNDTRACK LISTING

David Gray. "Sail Away."

Ben Folds. "The Luckiest."

(You can listen to these songs in my playlist for this series, which can be found by searching my username on Spotify.)

A/N:

Per a prompt from figsr (thank you, Fi!), I posted a true (i.e., 100-word) drabble yesterday, entitled "To the sea: a drabble." đź’› It's set during the early days of Sara and Grissom's time back together, on the Ishmael. đź’• You can find it here on FFN, if you're interested!

Thank you so very much for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it; the next should be up in about a week! đź’›