Fandom: CSI Rating: NC-17 Pairing: G/S Summary: Gift fic for Ricker23a, who kindly gave me permission to post this. Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All other characters are my invention, and if you want to mess with them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. Spoilers: Time of Your Death   Happy Birthday, Rica!  *grin* ********* It had been two weeks.  Just two weeks, and she was going nuts.   Sara frowned to herself, her mind bouncing between rationalizations and rationality, between a reluctance to shock Grissom and a desire to really shock him.  To continue taking things slow, or to push him down on the couch and just take him.    Giving her head a little shake, she turned back to the report she was trying to fill out.  Actual work was easy to concentrate on; paperwork, not so much.  It’s only been two weeks, she reminded herself firmly.  Now shut up and write.    Two weeks.  Two weeks since that weird case of death by misadventure; okay, the guy had been killed, but it was manslaughter rather than murder, and he seemed to have gone out relatively happy.  It’s not every day that our fantasies come true.    And when they do…  She couldn’t keep the smile from her lips.  In typical Grissom fashion, he’d let her know at least part of what had been holding him back for so long.  And when they’d been left alone, looking at each other across the table…    “Private, huh?”  She couldn’t resist the poke.  His asides had given her a dizzy courage, and she didn’t feel like letting him off the hook.    “There’s room in private for two,” Grissom said quietly, making her stomach flip.  He still had that little smile, the one that made her think of cool sheets and warm words, of intimacies.  He glanced at the clock, then back to her, meeting her eyes like he seldom dared.  “Would you…do me the honor of accompanying me to breakfast?”    What could she say but yes?    It had been a quiet meal, but not strained, and Sara wasn’t sure what she treasured more--his slow apology for all he’d done to hurt her, or the slow kiss he pressed to her cheek when he’d dropped her off at her car.  She’d mastered the urge to turn her head enough to catch it on her lips; she didn’t want to scare him off.    The next time, it had been she who’d kissed him.  One soft easy kiss that wasn’t nearly long enough, but that told her that she’d been right about the fit of his lips against hers: perfect.    Two weeks, she reminded herself again.  Two weeks in which they’d made up for lost kissing time, in which she’d done more bussing than all her years of college, in which Grissom had vanquished any remaining doubt she might have about his sincerity.  Two weeks of blissful caresses, of finding out she didn’t really care about beard burn.    But kissing was all they’d done.  Sara wasn’t a CSI for nothing; a little observation had told her that Grissom’s body, at least was willing to take things further.  But he’d been a gentleman, never pushing her, and she wasn’t sure if it was hesitation or gallantry that held him back.    Is he shy?  Or does he just want to take things slow?    She’d tried to ask him just the other morning, but a phone call from work had interrupted.  Grissom had visibly braced himself before telling her he had to go back to do an insect collection, and at her easy acquiescence he’d looked both startled and relieved.  Did he think I was going to get pissed?  It’s work.    Now Sara couldn’t stop wavering between letting things proceed at his pace, or speeding them up to hers.  Will he think I’m a slut? fought with It’s been six years, and hormones that she had managed to ignore for a long time now were making themselves felt.    A rap on the doorframe made her look up.  There was the object of her musings, regarding her with a gaze that was really a shade too warm for professionalism.    Sara smiled back.  “Almost done,” she said, tapping her pen on the report.    Grissom nodded.  “Will I see you later?” he asked, a courtesy he’d repeated every weekday morning for two weeks--taking nothing for granted, and Sara appreciated that.    “I hope so.”  Her smirk made his eyes crinkle.    “Your place or mine?”  The question was soft, lest impudent ears overhear.  They weren’t hiding, exactly, but as Grissom had said…private.    And just like that, she’d made up her mind.  “Yours.  I, uh, have something I need to do after work, but it won’t take me long.”    “Okay.”  He actually winked at her, and then turned and left.  Sara shook her head in wonderment.        All she needed to do after work--well, wanted to do anyway--was take a shower.  More out of nervousness than anything else.  Sara waited until Dayshift cleared out of the locker room, then hopped in and out of the water and dressed in the spare top she kept in her locker--just another patterned shirt, but it suited her.  As she gathered it in her hands to put on, habit had her glancing in the mirror to make sure her patch was in place on her shoulderblade.    Gee, I never thought cramps would come in handy.    She snickered to herself, and pulled the top into place.    It was a short drive to Grissom’s townhouse, and she pulled into a guest parking space, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach.  It was one thing to want to seduce Grissom, and quite another to decide to actually do it.    Our hormones are on my side, she decided finally, and climbed out of the car.    Grissom was charmingly domestic when he let her in, a towel thrown over one shoulder and a small knife in one hand.  Sara had to resist the urge to push up his glasses for him as she passed.  “I should give you a key,” he said casually, closing the door behind her, and his words made her stomach flip again.    “I’d like that,” she said, equally casually, and watched as he passed her on his way back to the breakfast bar.  The curls at the base of his neck were damp, which hinted that he’d had his own quick shower.  For some reason, the thought pleased her.  She kicked off her shoes and followed.    Grissom balanced a grapefruit on the cutting board in front of him and sliced it neatly in half with three strokes.  “Did you get your errand done?”    “Yeah.”  If she waited until after breakfast, Sara decided, she wouldn’t be able to eat.  Hitching herself up onto the counter, she reached across it and took his hands gently in hers, turning them until the grapefruit halves were face down on the board.  Then she lifted her hands to his face and kissed him.    Not gently, this time, but definitely thoroughly.  And after a second’s worth of hesitation, Grissom was just as thorough, exploring her mouth with the attention to detail that she expected from her beloved scientist.  When they finally had to break for breath, Sara could feel her pulse running fast in her throat and Grissom’s running just as fast under her fingers.    “Sara…” he said, his voice a little hoarse.    “Can we postpone breakfast?” she blurted, feeling her face flush.  Shit, I didn’t mean to--    His eyes widened.  “You--“    She let him go, feeling terribly self-conscious, and looked down.  The sight that met her eyes made a giggle escape her before she could stop it--Grissom had leaned so far into her kiss that he had squashed the grapefruit halves beneath his palms.    He looked down too, and let out a breath of laughter, and some of the tension eased.  Pulling the towel from his shoulder, Grissom blotted the juice that had run off the cutting board.    Sara sighed.  “I didn’t, um, plan on making you uncomfortable, I just…”    Grissom reached out quickly, covering her hand with his and then pulling it back just as fast as he realized that his hands were sticky with grapefruit juice.  “No--Sara, there’s nothing I’d like more, but…are you sure?”    She looked up again, catching his gaze, and knew as she did so that whatever had kept his behavior on the gentlemanly side had nothing to do with shyness.  Her confidence returned in a flood.  “Um, yeah.”    If anything, his gaze grew more intense.  Then Grissom nodded, and turned away, stepping over to the sink and washing his hands.  Sara watched as he tore off a paper towel to dry them, took off his glasses and set them aside, then turned back around to lean against the counter.  “Come here.”    The sound of his voice, low and confident, kicked her senses up a notch.  Sara slipped down off the breakfast bar and came around it, knowing his gaze was taking in her every move.  It made her feel…strong, like she hadn’t felt in a long while.    He opened his arms as she neared, and Sara slid into his kiss, letting him pull her in to lean against him.  A small sound of bliss escaped her; this was what she had wanted for so long.  Grissom’s mouth on hers was tender and as confident as his voice, and Sara slid the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip and felt his arms tighten in happy response.  He tasted so good, she just couldn’t stop.    And, judging from the increasing bulge where her hips were pressed against his, stopping wasn’t going to be an issue.    Sara didn’t know how long they stood there necking, but it was long enough to make her think that she should have jumped him at least a week earlier.  I…wasted a…week…of this? she thought as Grissom kissed his way around her throat and bit her gently under the ear.  The tickle of his beard on her skin made her squirm, and he laughed again, his breath hot.  Sara worked his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands up under it, and Grissom grunted.    “Before we get much further--“ he began, speaking mostly into her hair, but Sara smiled and laid a string of kisses along his jaw.    “Birth control is covered,” she assured him, pulling back enough so that they could see each other.  His face was flushed, which pleased her immeasurably.  “Any other questions?”    One corner of his mouth curled slowly up.  “Many…and I think I’m about to discover the answers.”    Sara smirked, and used the opportunity provided to let her hands slide around to his abdomen.  Grissom sucked in a breath at her touch.  “Yeah?  What are they?”    One big hand pinned hers in place, and the other curved around her head, bringing her in for another kiss.  “The taste of your skin,” Grissom whispered against her lips, making her knees go weak.  “Your hair against my sheets.  The way you look…”  His tongue dipped briefly into her mouth.  “…when you go over the edge.”    Sara swallowed hard, then tugged her hands free and reached up to pull his down, locking her fingers around his wrist.  “Then let’s go find out.”    She stepped away, towing him towards the hallway, and Grissom followed, his steps lengthening to catch up to her.  “Sara--“    She halted.  “Don’t tell me to slow down, Griss, I’ve been waiting for way too long for this.”    He shook his head, and pulled her into his arms again.  “Not going anywhere,” he mumbled against her cheekbone.  “But I want to savor this.”    She felt his fingers on her skin, pushing up her top, and she leaned back and raised her arms so he could rid her of it.  The shirt dropped to the floor as Grissom let out a breath; Sara reflected with amusement that he had to know that she wasn’t wearing a bra after their chests had been pressed together, but apparently the visual proof was something else.    Then her back was against the wall, and Grissom was exploring her exposed flesh with both hands and mouth.  The scrape of his beard between her breasts was almost unbearable, and Sara rolled her head back against the plaster, bracing her hands on his shoulders.    “So soft,” Grissom said, his voice vibrating against her breastbone.  Her chuckle turned into a gasp when his mouth covered a nipple, and her gasp deepened when his arms went around her waist and he lifted.    “Griss!” she yelped, automatically wrapping her legs around his waist.  “Whoah!”    His rare flashing grin lit his face as he looked up at her.  “It’s a guy thing,” he said cheerfully, and blew a sudden raspberry against her sternum.  She shrieked at the tickle, laughing helplessly, and Grissom tightened his grip and walked the few yards to his bedroom, maneuvering them neatly through the doorway.    “Down,” Sara demanded, wriggling a little, and Grissom bent to put her on her feet.  As he straightened, she snagged his shirt and helped him out of it, and as it went over his head she smiled.    Grissom’s cheeks pinkened slightly as Sara let her hands slide up over his smooth chest and down again to the slight roundness of his belly.  “You’re not fuzzy,” she said happily, and his mouth quirked.    “My testosterone gets used for other things.”  He tried to still her hands, but Sara slid them around to the small of his back and kissed him fiercely, trying to burn out the doubt she’d glimpsed in his face.    “If I wanted a six-pack, I’d go to Nick’s,” she whispered when they were both panting a little.  “Or the liquor store.”    That made him laugh again, and shake his head as his palms smoothed down her front once more.  “My great good fortune.”    With a deft twist, he undid the button of her slacks.  Sara lowered the zipper herself and pushed them down, almost regretting the fact that all she’d had in her locker was plain cotton underwear, but Grissom’s rapt gaze seemed to indicate that it didn’t matter.    “Your turn,” she told him.  Grissom made a vaguely assenting noise and pulled her close for another deep kiss, his tongue stroking hers in a fashion that made goose bumps rise on her skin.  His hands found their way under the waistband of her panties, and he squeezed her rear lightly, groaning.  Sara pushed back against his hands, enjoying his grip.    He tore his mouth from hers.  “Speaking of fantasies,” he said breathlessly, “that one is at least--hey!”    Despite the distraction of his kiss, Sara had managed to open the fly of his jeans and hook her thumbs at the waist.  One good tug and they dropped easily, and--    “Do you always go commando?” Sara asked, amused and impressed.    “This from the woman not wearing a bra?  Ah, Sara--”  Grissom’s voice broke off as she reached out and surrounded his erection with both hands.  He was hot and alive between her palms, and Sara felt the slickness growing between her thighs.  His scent was going straight to her backbrain, soap and urgency and a hint of sweat, and all she could think about was that her own fantasy was so close to coming true--she was so close to taking this maddening, brilliant, introverted man into her arms and her body at last.    She couldn’t wait.    “Enough,” Grissom said shortly, his eyes narrow, and he gripped her wrists.  “My turn.”    Sara felt moisture smear across her palm as he pulled her hands from him, and she grinned, lifting her hand to her mouth to lick the salty trace away.  Grissom inhaled sharply at the sight, and as his muscles tensed she thought he was going to just pounce on her, but instead he let the breath out.    Slightly disappointed, Sara considered shoving him gently onto the bed and following him down, but he surprised her by dropping to his knees in front of her and returning his attention to her breasts.  His mouth was hot and insistent, and the exquisite suction made her entire body tingle, distracting her so thoroughly that Sara didn’t notice that he’d peeled off her panties until he urged her to step out of them.  She put her hands on his shoulders and complied, and as she regained her balance his lips were on her belly, nipping lightly at the slight curve, making her knees weaken with the delicate scrape of his whiskers.    “Grisssss...” she hissed, and he hummed against her skin, then pressed against the insides of her thighs, making her widen her stance.  Then he ducked a little.    It was instant insanity, Sara thought dizzily.  That clever tongue was exploring between her legs with a sure, hungry touch, and she felt herself begin to tremble as fierce pleasure rushed up along her nerves.  She wobbled a little, and at once he was steadying her, his grip on her rear pulling her closer.    “Stop,” she finally managed.  “Griss, stop--”  Tugging gently at his head, she made him look up.    “I want to feel you come,” he insisted, his eyes dark and fierce, but she shook her head.    “I’m not multi-orgasmic,” she told him.  “Some other time.”    Acquiescing, he let her go and stood, and this time she did push him, guiding him backwards to the bed.  He sat on the edge and caught her hands, pulling her down with him.  They ended up sprawled over the comforter, hearts racing, and Sara giggled as Grissom’s hands slid down her back to her waist and bottom.  She propped herself up a little and looked down at him.  “You have a thing for my ass, don’t you?”    “Sweetheart, I have a thing for all of you.”  Wrapping one arm around her waist, Grissom braced himself with the other and shoved backwards until he was sitting up against the headboard and Sara was straddling his lap.  “Let me show you.”    Yes.  Sara rose up slightly on her knees, and his grip guided her; she sank down on him slowly, a long moan escaping her at the exquisite stretching feeling of being filled.  Grissom pressed his forehead to hers, echoing her moan and following it with a soft oath.  “Sssara...”    She was smiling, she couldn’t help it.  Sara let her fingers find his nape and her lips find his--    Vaguely she realized that she was going to have thumbprint bruises on her hips.  It didn’t matter in the least.  The only important thing was their rhythm, the stroke of him inside her, the heat of his kiss; the incoherent, adoring words tumbling between them and the ecstasy that was gathering like electricity before a lightning strike.  “Don’t stop,” she panted, clutching his shoulders hard, and he grunted, moving them faster.  The heat was unbearable, the pleasure frantic and unendurable, she couldn’t stand it but she couldn’t stop, and then he slid a hand between them and touched her just right.    She tried to say his name, but it came out choked as every muscle in her body seemed to lock.  She was drowning in ravening bliss, her eyes squeezed shut, her ears ringing, every centimeter of skin on fire with it.  Grissom was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out.  The pleasure held her suspended for a forever moment, then let her go to sag in Grissom’s grip.    Her vision was blurred, but she could just make out his expression, a mixture of triumph and awe.  The triumph she shared, and it doubled for her when Grissom clutched her closer still and groaned again and again, his hips jerking up.  Sara let her head fall to his shoulder, and they were still.    It took a long time for their breathing to slow.  Sara felt sticky and sweaty and didn’t care at all; she could feel Grissom’s hand shaking as it traced up and down her spine, and his heartbeat thudded under her ear.  Every bone in her body seemed melted by bliss.    “You’re breathtaking,” Grissom finally whispered.  “I think...”    Sara lifted her head, feeling totally wiped out and very happy.  “What?”    He kissed her, very gently.  “I think I need a new fantasy list.”    Sara glanced down and snickered.  “Well, you still haven’t done the sheet one,” she pointed out.    “Mmm.”  Grissom helped Sara ease off his lap, both of them wincing a little but still smiling.  “We can solve that one right now.”    As if on cue, Sara shivered.  Grissom tugged the comforter out from under them, revealing navy blue sheets.  “Or would you rather have breakfast?”    “Nap first,” Sara said decisively, and slid under the comforter.  Grissom joined her, settling down with a contented sigh and rolling over to face her.    Sara reached out to touch his face, trailing her thumb over the spot that had once been smeared with imaginary chalk.  “I was right.”    Grissom eased closer, and offered his arm as a pillow.  “About what?”    She accepted, letting her palm rest against his chest and feeling her eyelids sliding shut.  “We should have done this a week ago.”    Grissom sighed, a contented sound, but didn’t answer right away.  As she drifted off to sleep, though, she heard him murmur.    “At least.”      End. 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