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The 54th Floor
A fanfiction by Lyrael
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or its beloved characters. Which is why I've plunked them into this particular setting.
Greg and Nick stand to my right, grinning a little bit like forlorn fools but I love their expressions anyway – Greg has his hands on his hips, surveying the dance scene. I honestly don’t know why they wanted to take me here on a hot Saturday night, but the music is going strong and the smell of alcohol and sweat is heavy in the air.
Warrick has already left us and submerged himself into the pool of activity with his wife Tina – nice woman, rather sweet. I pull off my jacket, and Greg’s eyes grow a little wider at the daunting top that I’ve chosen to come here in – it’s black, tight, low-cut, and adorned with black sequins all along the top. He takes my coat and hands it to the check-in guy, and then turns to stare at me.
“Jesus, Sara,” he laughs, straining his voice to be heard above the music. “You look hot.” His eyebrows waggle a little and he gives me a sharp thumbs-up. I simply roll my eyes and lean towards him, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Thanks,” I mutter in reply, “I’ve had this at the back of my closet for months. Thought I should actually wear it, you know?” I too have to yell to be heard, and the music just keeps getting louder. The DJ – turns out that Warrick knows him, DJ Frankie or something – is playing some sort of weird techno trance music, but I don’t really care. The dancing in the pit before me looks almost enticing, and I bite the inside of my cheek. It feels almost surreal to be here for my own enjoyment, instead of for a case.
For a moment, my thoughts dance to Grissom, who’s probably home alone at his townhouse. Typically I spend weekends with him, so calling him up this morning after shift and vaguely telling him that I had other plans for the night felt a little odd. Speaking of Grissom – he stepped past the walls he’d erected with a proposition for me about four and a half months ago, just after we started becoming friends again. I still remember him showing up at my door, all cool and collected and asking if he was too late, if we could start over and forget everything that had happened. I agreed after a little “coercing” and it’s been on the (rather fabulous) upswing ever since.
For a moment, my fingers try to find the outline of my phone, which I then remember is still in my coat pocket, which is in the coatroom. I really want to invite him out with us, but then I shake my head – why would Grissom want to come to a club? As far as I know, he hates these kinds of places. Then again, I think, perusing the crowd dancing in the pit, some of the people here look older than he is. I guess everyone in Vegas is entitled to their own breed of fun.
Nick moves forward, turning around and gesturing for Greg and I to follow him. I look to Greg, and I’m surprised to find him already chatting up an attractive, blue-eyed brunette. She’s wearing glasses and I suspect that she’s feeling a little awkward, because she keeps twisting her hair around her fingers – but Greg is making her feel comfortable, as she laughs a few seconds later. It’s cute, really; I never expected Greg to be such a ladies man.
He glances back to me, and grins, making a little shooing motion with his hand. The brunette looks at me uncertainly, biting her lip. “Go ahead, I’ll find you later,” Greg shouts above the music, which has now started to blend into a familiar song, though I can’t place it right away. He’d better find me later, because he’s my ride and there’s no telling where he might go with his new friend. I give him one last uneasy look, and then stride forward, finding Nick’s proffered arm and slipping mine through it.
“Ready?” He gives me a grin and winks. I shrug slightly, trying to shake off the impression that I’m nervous.
“I’ve never really gone to a club like this,” I say, leaning towards his ear so I don’t have to scream myself hoarse. I hear him laugh.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he drawls over the song, “you can dance with me for awhile, ‘kay?”
At least Nick is nice about it – Greg was scoffing at me for over half an hour yesterday, during break: “You’ve lived in Vegas for almost six years and you’ve never been to Studio 54? Sara, it’s like… a piece of history! That settles it – Nick, Warrick – we’re taking Sara out clubbing tomorrow night.”
I nod, and somehow we wind our way towards the front of the crowd, lost amongst the gyrating bodies of Studio 54. The lights and sounds are dizzying, and before I know it, Nick and I dancing together. He’s keeping a respectful distance, his hands lightly touching my hips, and I’ve found a rhythm, finally. The people around us are similarly lost in their own worlds, and there are people cheering and stomping around on the balcony above us.
The songs pass us by, blending artfully into each other, and I’m slightly sweaty from the closeness of everyone around us. When I turn to face Nick, he just offers me a wide smile, and then leans towards me.
“I think I see someone I know,” he shouts, as we’re so close to the stage that I can barely hear my own thoughts. “I’m gonna go talk to her for awhile – you okay by yourself?” He quickly shoots his gaze in a direction off to my left and I glance towards where he’s looking – a bouncy redhead is waving at him, and I swear that the tips of his ears are turning slightly pink.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I respond, lying a little bit – how the hell am I going to get out of here without him? – but then he smiles again and I just push him away. “Go! Go have fun with her,” I laugh, and the redhead waves at me as Nick makes his way through the throng of people, and she kisses him hello. Yep, he definitely knows her.
I turn to make my way out of the pit; it’s clearly time to have a drink or something. I see Warrick and Tina off to my right, past the casual dancers, dancing in what I’ve just deemed the “Sexually Charged” section. At the moment they’re much too involved with each other for me to interrupt, so I just veer left to avoid bumping myself into the SC section. Studio 54 in Vegas is definitely reminiscent of its predecessor in New York – just without all the psychedelic drugs in the shadowy corners.
I burst free of the pit, but not before encountering Greg and his friend, who he tells me is named Shirley. I just smile at them before departing the large crowd, heading off towards the curved bar. The bartender who serves me is named Brad, and looks barely a day over 25. He’s flirting shamelessly with an older, blonde bombshell when I approach, and barely acknowledges my presence except when I practically scream that I want a margarita. I’ve always hated bars for that reason.
After Brad finally slides my margarita towards me, I lean against the bar far away from him and Barbie, surveying the crowd. The sexual tension in here is nuts, and for a moment my body is a little warm. I lick my lips to clear away the bitter tang of salt, taking another ginger sip of the icy drink, when I notice something awfully familiar in my peripheral vision. I snap my gaze to the right, but there’s nothing there that comes close to resembling what I thought I just saw.
C’mon, Sara, I chide myself. He wouldn’t come here, even though he’s admitted his feelings for you. He’s not that type of guy. But you’re still in love with him and his weird tendencies. At least he’s made a constant effort in the past six months. Hell, he’s being more open than ever before, even. That does count for something huge.
I nod sagely to myself, raising my drink to my lips again, when I do recognize something. A very familiar female saunters into my line of vision, her red-blonde hair appearing much darker in the dimmed light. A smile slides across my face as Catherine leans against the bar next to me, grinning.
“I heard about this little endeavor,” she says, tipping her head towards my ear to avoid shouting. “Are you having fun so far?” She seems to be enjoying the view from where we’re standing, and I have to remind myself that she’s a veteran of places like this. Suddenly I feel a little in awe, but I don’t let it show on my face.
I raise my shoulders in a slight shrug. “It’s alright. I’ve never been one for the club scene,” I admit, gesturing towards the dancing people with my glass. The SC section has gotten noticeably bigger, and I squint a little, trying to figure out if that dark-haired guy near the front is Nick or not. Then again, I don’t really want to know.
“You know,” Catherine muses, her lips pursed a bit, “I could show most of these people home to their mothers. I haven’t done any serious clubbing in years.” She stresses the last word of her sentence, stretching her arms above her head, as if itching to get into the mess of people in front of her. “Is Warrick still here?” she asks suddenly, interrupting a few thoughts that have come bounding into my brain about a case from yesterday.
“Yep,” I reply, making a vague gesture at the SC section with my free hand. “He’s here with Tina.” For a second, I see her posture deflate in the tiniest fraction, but then she’s back to normal, and her face is set with an expression that I can’t really identify.
“Oh. Okay,” she replies, her voice sounding a little strange. For a moment, I feel connected to her in more ways than one, because it finally clicks in my head that I’ve been in her situation. But she shakes her head, replacing the strange expression with something of a sad, yet eager smile. “Well, then I guess it’s time to demonstrate the true extremes of dancing, hmm?” She leaves without another word, and for a moment I’m rewarded with the mental image of Catherine walking towards the ocean, and throwing herself into the water without so much as a sigh.
I take another sip of my drink – it’s already half-melted – and scan the crowd, observing how everyone else moves along with their partners, how everyone else has chosen to spend this particular Saturday night. I’m still idly watching when a hand rests on my shoulder, and I freeze. Slowly I turn my head, finding myself locked into the icy blue gaze of the man standing on my right. His name leaves my lips before I can even think.
“…Grissom?” My voice squeaks a little from surprise and he smirks at that for a second. His hand is warm and solid on my shoulder, and my eyes unconsciously trace their way down his arm before meeting his stare again. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black button-up shirt, and black slacks, which are a bit more fitted than what he usually wears. Then I remember the club’s dress code, and almost laugh to myself.
“Catherine was insistent on dragging me out of my house this evening,” he says quietly, leaning in so close that his proximity is almost nerve-wracking. I, however, find myself very calm, despite wondering if he’s annoyed that I didn’t really tell him where I was going tonight. “She didn’t mention that you were going to be here, but I had a hunch when she said that most of graveyard was at the Studio. Did you really think you were going to escape me for the weekend?” His eyes are glittering with amusement, but I can’t really tell what’s making him look so utterly ethereal, whether it’s the lights or lack thereof.
I feel myself tremble a little bit. “No, I – Greg invited me. And Nick and Warrick. Besides, I thought you didn’t like these kinds of places. That’s why I didn’t really tell you.” My voice sounds really unnatural – it’s probably the fact that he surprised the hell out of me by coming here.
“You’re right; normally, I don’t,” he says thoughtfully, scratching his bearded jaw absentmindedly, again invading my personal space so thoroughly that I can smell the faint scents of soap and sweat on him. “But I guess it’s alright, since you’re here.”
My jaw drops open slightly and I feel a slight heat rising up my neck from my lower back. He crosses his arms over his chest and puts a finger to his lips, watching me carefully, and he looks so adorable…
I take a long drink of my margarita to avoid sputtering incessantly at him, only to suffer the minor pains of a short brain freeze a few seconds later. I set the glass down on the bar, and wipe my palms on my jeans. The tequila has made my perception a tiny bit fuzzy, but not so much that I can’t concentrate. Grissom just watches me, a small hint of amusement in his smile, and I fight the urge to glare at him. Instead, I offer him my hand.
“Do you want… d’you want to dance?” The last part of my sentence leaves my mouth on a rush of oxygen, and he chuckles softly.
“Sure.” He takes my hand and lets me guide him from the bar, around to the front of the pit instead of the side. The DJ is juggling records up on the stage and a very familiar beat pounds its way through the speakers. I recognize the old Nine Inch Nails song before the vocals even start, and I find myself smirking devilishly. I’ve heard this song more than a few times – my roommate’s friend at Berkeley was a big fan of Trent and his addictive electronica.
We’ve made our way into the middle of the crowd before I feel him tugging back on me. I stop and turn, mid-stride, and he pulls me into his arms for a minute. I return his embrace briefly before making eye contact with him.
“You know how to dance, right Grissom?” I ask, with an unconsciously high level of sarcasm in my voice. His brows rise a little, and his lips are now dangerously close to mine. His pupils are dark and wide; wider than I think I’ve ever seen them. He’s so calm that it’s making me twitchy with anticipation. He used to be some sort of nervous wreck when it came to associating with me, especially in public; however, over the past few months, a lot of that façade has vanished. It reappears sometimes, but tonight… tonight, he is so Zen that it’s driving me crazy.
Grissom’s laugh is deep but I can’t really hear it. I feel it rumble up through his chest however, and Trent’s vocals are loud and lusty somewhere in the background. “Of course I know how to dance,” he says in my ear, and I have the perfect opportunity to kiss his neck.
“So show me,” I mumble challengingly, pulling back to raise my eyebrows at him. He raises one in return, that smirk reappearing, before he whisks me around, settling his large hands on my hips. There are a few slightly awkward moments before we really start to move – I have my arms raised and my fingers are tangled in my own hair before I know it, and he’s that ever-closer presence following just behind me.
Surprisingly, he keeps a good, smooth rhythm for someone who I’ve never known to get out much, and I have to wonder if it’s natural or if he’s had some sort of class. I banish the second thought from my head as soon as it drifts into being. For some reason, I can’t imagine Grissom lasting long in a class for dancing, since he seems to be automatically perfect at everything he learns.
It doesn’t surprise me much when his hands move up around my ribcage and back down again. He chooses a lower position this time and squeezes my hips warmly, but the gesture has me wondering what’s on his mind. Surely he can’t have been this adventurous with every woman he’s pursued. I’ve got him going to a club for crying out loud! I’ve always thought nightclubs to be the antithesis of what Grissom is, essentially – but even my intuition can be wrong sometimes.
I place my hands on his and lift them a little as I turn around. His proximity has me dizzy the second I turn to face him, and his eyes are smiling.
“Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” he wonders aloud, giving me a slightly salacious half-grin, the smile digging a dimple in his cheek.
“Tease,” I mutter under my breath, and lightly I move my hands up his forearms, up his biceps, until they’re resting on his broad shoulders. I force my eyes to meet his for longer than a second or two, and I’m breathless at the hunger that flickers through them.
He shakes his head slightly, taking his hands off my hips and bringing them up to shoulder-level, cupping my face. “Never,” he says solemnly, though the smile doesn’t completely leave. I wonder how he heard me, amidst the pounding of the bass and the lyrics I want to feel you from the inside. Next thing I know, his lips are brushing mine softly, and I nearly hiccup at the tickly sensation that shocks its way through my nerves.
He’s kissed me many times before, and it’s been knee weakening, but the fact that he’s doing this in public has me just about floored. As if reading my mind, he wraps an arm around my waist and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine, a “love you” leaving his mouth. I realize that we’re not moving anymore, but everyone else around us is, disregarding us in favor of their own heated situations. I raise my gaze to meet his and his stormy eyes are incredibly dark and full of something that I can’t really describe. I initiate the next kiss and when I feel the gentle press of his tongue against mine, I hazily wonder if we should be over in the SC section, necking within a few feet of Warrick, Tina, Nick, and his redhead…
“Love you too.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, gently threading my fingers through his salted curls, and he seems so much younger in the lights of this place. We start moving again and I’m so close to him that it’s immensely satisfying and frustrating at the same time. We’d tried to hold off on consummating our relationship for a little while, but that ended up with him practically jumping me a little less than three months after we started dating.
I laugh to myself at the memory, and then he’s kissing my neck and I just want to melt right there. He’s never really shown this much… affection outside of our respective homes, and something about it just has me feeling incredibly wired. He drops little kisses along my jaw until he reaches my mouth, fitting his lips to mine again. A new song has started, but a lot of the background noise and activity seems to drop away this time, and now I know why most people just ignore each other at clubs.
My eyes are wide when he pulls away, his breath slightly ragged, the sound almost lost amidst the new singer’s seductive voice, the words that twist through the air: when you’ve laid your hands upon me, and told me who you are. He stares at me wordlessly, and I know that it’s time to go. I look around for Greg, and realize with a grim smile that he’s probably gone already, gone with… what was that girl’s name? Looking for him now probably won’t amount to much, as Greg can disappear when he wants to. I decide to text him on the way home. Grissom takes my hand in his and leads me from the mass of people, glancing back every so often, as if to make sure that I’m still the one holding his hand. He’s been a little protective ever since he told me that he wanted to take me up on my offer, that he didn’t want to be too late. I don’t mind at all.
We stop by the coatroom right before we leave, and I snatch up my coat after about a five-minute wait. Grissom stands stoically next to me the whole time, but I know that under his calm demeanor, he’s probably simmering. He takes my hand as we’re leaving the MGM Grand, and laces his fingers through mine, shoving his other hand into his pocket.
“You drove, right?” I ask softly, breaking the comfortable silence. He nods without looking at me, and I see his hand shift in his pocket to bring out his keys. His Denali is closer than I expected, and when we climb into the car, he turns that stare towards me, a faint smile touching his lips and I have to wonder what he’s thinking. Before he starts the engine, he sits for a moment, and then reaches for my hand and brings it up to his face, kissing my palm.
“I usually hate those places,” Grissom says, sounding pleased. “But, given the right circumstances,” he gestures at me, smirking a little, “I think it’s a lot more than enjoyable.” He kisses my palm again, his beard tickling my skin, and gently guides my hand to rest on the center console. I’m still a little speechless as he starts up the car, the air conditioning starting with the engine and blowing a cool breeze through my hair.
The ride back to his townhouse is comfortably quiet, except when I break the silence at a red light.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that I didn’t invite him in the first place. “You kinda… rescued me.” When I look up, he’s smiling like he’s done something bad. Something in my head clicks. “Who told you I was going?” I demand, laughing.
“No one,” he retorts, still grinning. There’s a beat of silence and then, “Well… maybe someone told me.”
“Who?” I ask, incredulous.
He just laughs for a moment, signaling to turn into the parking lot. “Fine. I… coerced Greg into telling me what he was doing tonight… yesterday. I couldn’t help it; he was radiating excitement. You know how he gets.” He parks the Denali and glances at me as I throw up my hands in mock aggravation. I make eye contact with him and suddenly I see that for the first time in years, he’s completely unmasked to me. His expression is rather reverent and I stop laughing, and instead give him one of my regret-tinged smiles.
“Sorry I didn’t clue you in,” I offer, giving him my best ‘Sorry, darling’ face. He waves it aside with his hand and a grin, and I know he understands why. Sometimes the unspoken part of our relationship is the thing I like the most – I don’t have to blather on to get a point across to him, because he already knows that I’m sorry. It works the other way around, too.
We exit the car a few seconds later and he steps up in front of me to unlock to the door of his townhouse, and I stand directly behind him, controlling my urges to kiss him again until we’re inside.
I close the door behind me and kick off my shoes just inside, propping myself up against the wall with one hand and rubbing a sore foot with the other. Grissom watches me, a faint hunger along with something else evident in his mild blue eyes when he says it.
“I want to marry you.” There’s a short pause before I respond.
“Really?” I straighten and sort of peer at him, feeling my heart start to race. For a second I consider asking him if he’s absolutely sure, but the look he gives me along with the words vouches for him. Half of me is silently rejoicing over the fact that he’s finally, really said it. The other half of me is quiet, and doesn’t say anything. I feel my lip tremble a little, but I try to quell it before I start getting too emotional – the pessimistic side of me has finally shut up in regards to Grissom and I think that’s a good thing.
“I’ll do it right soon, I promise,” he mutters, and then he’s caught me in his arms before I have time to react further, muttering, “I love you” between kisses, and I know exactly where we’re going to end up; my entire body feels flushed and something warm stirs in my belly. We’ve already taken a few steps backwards towards his bedroom, his fingers lightly skimming the hem of my sequined tank top.
“Gil,” I say against his lips, my fingertips seeking out the buttons on his shirt, and he gives a soft grunt in response. I smile into his kiss. “I love you too, and I know you’ll do it right, but you didn’t need to come to Studio 54 on my behalf, you know. I’m a big girl.” Even so, my heart is fluttering at what he’s surprised me with this evening.
He pulls back to give me a look of mock exasperation, his hands inching my top off slowly. “Well,” he begins, and I lift my arms to make his task a little easier. “It’s Saturday night. It was fun. And I missed you.” His tone is so genuine that it makes my heart hurt, and he gives me a shy but broad smile. I just shake my head slightly, amused, as my tank top drops to the floor, forgotten.
“I probably would’ve ended up here anyway,” I whisper as he kneels in front of me, pressing his bearded face into my belly and sighing softly. His breath is incredibly warm on my skin, even though the night is hot and Grissom’s house lacks air conditioning. His big hands lightly squeeze the backs of my thighs.
“You don’t know that for sure,” he says, his voice muffled but laced with humor. I shudder from the unexpected tickling of his beard, and run my hands through his curls, making him look up at me. His eyes are slightly stormy and I love it when he looks like this – slightly wild and unkempt, but still in control. It reminds me that even the Great, Stoic Gilbert Grissom hides the untamed side of himself from the rest of the world.
“I’ll invite you next time,” I promise, bending and kissing him solidly. Then he stands and lifts me up into his arms and all thoughts cease to be.
PS - And I happen to think that Grissom would be a very good dancer. Cookies to the first person who figures out which two songs were playing while Grissom and Sara were dancing.
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