|The Final Two
Author: CSIGeekFan PM
A short one-shot... Grissom and Sara play a friendly game of basketball. In honor of the NCAA championships occurring this week.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - Gil G. & Sara S. - Words: 1,208 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 1 - Published: 04-06-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4181853
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: The Final
Summary: Grissom and Sara play a game of basketball.
A/N: A little fluff in honor of the NCAA basketball championships this week.
It started off as a simple jest, when Sara laughing nudged Grissom in the ribs as he escorted her from the car. Early summer had begun in full force. Standing on the concrete basketball court, Sara crouched low and dribbled the ball easily between her legs and around her back.
"Okay, so… what's the bet?" Grissom mildly asked, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, watching his lover move across the court like a pro.
"Loser makes dinner," Sara stated, a sober look on her face. "When you make my dinner, I want Indian food."
"Fine," Grissom replied, arching a brow at her. "Then I want a five course Italian meal."
"You're on, Gris," Sara smirked in reply. After laying out the court rules, they flipped a coin, and Sara started off with the ball. When he crouched low, he kept pace with her. As she pivoted, faked, and then spun around, she was surprised to feel his arm wrap around her waist and pick her up.
"FOUL!" she yelled, turning around to give him a tight smile.
Holding up his hands in surrender, he twisted his neck around to wipe his forehead against the sleeve of his shirt. As she made her way around him back up to the half court mark, she began to dribble the ball once again.
However, before she could make a move, she threw him off balance with, "You know what? For a guy who thinks he's getting old, you're pretty fast." With a waggle of her brows, she added, "I really like the shape you're in," and took off. She made her move when he stood a little straighter, not crouched down in a defensive position. She easily launched around him and shot. Whooping in delight, she did her little victory dance and earned a chuckle.
Switching spots, Grissom stood at the half court mark as Sara tossed him the ball and said, "Give it to me, big guy," in an almost edgy purr. "Show me what you can do."
Anyone watching would've never seen the sedate entomologist, but a guy that knew how to handle a basketball. Sara was his match, though. Spinning to gain advance on his pivoting maneuver, she found herself still in front of him when he stopped dribbling. She could actually see the, I'm screwed. Shoot or get a traveling call work its way through his mind like a steel drum.
"Whatcha gonna do, Gris? Hmmm?" she taunted, and was surprised when he reached out, grabbed the back of her hair and answered, "Don't you wanna know," in a low growl just an inch from her lips. Standing there dazed, she watched him take and swish the shot.
"That's not fair," she mockingly pouted, then gave him a leering grin.
"Your bet, dear," he mildly replied, as she made her way to center court. When his muscles flexed, and he tossed the ball at her, she caught it with one hand, spun it up on the other and replied, "You're going to pay for that, you know."
When he started laughing, she called a quick time with her hands, and placed the ball on the ground. Slowly she stretched her arms over her head so the hem of her shirt lifted, exposing an enticing amount of flesh. Moving her body back and forth, she limbered up and watched him just stand there, unmoving and puffing short breaths.
As she turned to her side and bent over to pick up the ball, she seductively murmured, "See something you like, baby?"
"Oh yeah," he replied, rooted in place; watching her dribble around him and put in an easy lay up.
Walking up to him, she raised up the short distance to his ear and leaned in so her breath tickled down his neck when she said, "That's two more for me."
His chuckle rend the air and he shook his head as he walked toward center court. When she tossed the ball to him, he quickly raised a hand up to his face. Running his hand over his trim beard, he wished once again he'd shaved it off for the summer – she wouldn't let him.
"This is going to be a three pointer, sweetheart," he boldly stated with a wide grin. At her I Dare You look, he walked up, not even bothering to try any kind of defensive maneuver. Instead, he just waited. When she lunged to steal the ball as it bounced up from the concrete, he swiveled so she landed smack up against his chest and the ball wound its way around to his other hand.
Chest to chest, her breath sucked in and she felt something primal course through her. Raising on her toes a little, she tilted her head a fraction and closed her eyes. She could feel his breath on her lips, and could only wait with anxious anticipation for him to…
Thump thump thump thump thump.
Breathing in and out rapidly, she opened her eyes a fraction to see him walk up to her, whisper in her ear, "I'm going to win this bet, dear," and wait for her to move to center court. Finally snapping out of it, she glared.
Back and forth, they moved, and made moves on one another – daring and tantalizing each other. Rubbing up against each other, they sent each other up in flames in the blazing heat of the Las Vegas sun.
Greg found them in the break room that night. Both sat at the table, quietly eating their dinner and talking about a case. They watched the young CSI make his way to the coffee urn, start a pot of his special blend.
It wasn't until he turned and casually asked, "So, who won the bet this time?" that Grissom choked on the cup of tea he'd been drinking. Raising his eyebrows at Sara, he didn't need words to ask how Greg knew.
"Greg saw," she mumbled into her cup of cold coffee. At Grissom's raised brows, she expounded, "Greg saw us last week." When Grissom opened his mouth to speak, he found no words came out, and the hint of pink that had begun to tinge her neck flushed all the way across her face and turned darker.
"You know, Grissom, it's no big deal. Really, the fact that the two of you do it is actually pretty… cool."
At Grissom's blank stare, the young CSI continued, "I mean seriously – a man your age… anyway. Like I said. It's cool."
Sitting across from the uncomfortable supervisor, Greg asked again, "So? Who won?"
Letting out a low huffing breath, Gil Grissom raised his hand, showed his taped up hand, and grudgingly said, "Sara did. She's right. I can't seem to play sports without injuring myself."