Finished! Exactly one month after Klee Wyck’s actual birthday...

“Okay, it’s printing!”

Grissom looked up from the last dish he was wiping with a towel. “What’s printing?”

“Our dirty talk.”

He swallowed, putting the dish on the counter and heading for the study. Sara was standing by the printer, holding a pen between her teeth as she shuffled some papers.

She waved the stack in triumph. “Got it off a website that’s all about spicing up your sex life.”

“But our sex life is–” Grissom broke off, wondering if it wasn’t so fine after all.

“Here, you take this pile, and I’ll take this one. Meet you in the bedroom!”

He watched her bound off eagerly and frowned, looking down at his papers. “Um... hon, what’s a quim?”

“What?” she called.

“A quim, what’s a quim?” He headed into the bedroom, where Sara had already stripped down to her underwear.

She paused. “Maybe it’s a British thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know... quid, quim, they sound alike.”

“Ah. Why would it quiver?”

“Just skip that one.”

“Kay.”

Feeling stupid, Grissom pulled off his shirt and stepped out of his jeans. “So we just... what, read the things aloud?”

“I guess.” She scanned the first page. “Here, let’s start out nice and easy. Kiss me.”

He sat down next to her on the bed, cupping her cheek and kissing her lips gently.

“Now you tell me how my lips feel,” she instructed.

“They feel soft. Smooth.”

“See? This isn’t so bad.”

“It’s not,” he agreed, feeling better. He glanced at his pages. “I want to, um, taste your skin.”

“Oh really,” she drawled, cocking her head to give him better access to her neck. He ran his tongue along her collarbone eagerly, placing small kisses into the crook of her neck. “What does it taste like?”

“You.”

“That’s not very sexy.”

“I beg to differ.” He nipped lightly at the skin, and she laughed, pushing his head up.

“You know what I want to do?” she asked, glancing at her sheet.

“Mm?”

“I want to hold your heavy silken mass in my hands.”

“My heavy–”

“Your head, Gil.” She took his head in her hands, running her fingers through his silky hair. “See? Doesn’t that feel good?”

“I don’t get it. Why’s my head heavy?”

“Because your brain’s so full. Now you read one.”

Grissom looked down at his papers. “Um... baby, I want you to wear my pearl necklace.”

“The one you got me for my birthday?”

He smiled. “Sure, that’s beautiful on you.”

She darted over to her jewelry box, pulling out a strand of freshwater pearls. “Can you fasten it for me in the back?”

“Of course.” He fiddled with the clasp until it clicked, and the pearls lay against her skin. “I never would have thought of this as dirty talk.”

“Yeah, me neither... shows how much we know. Okay, I found a good one for me to use on you,” she said. “I want to run my finger through your moist cleft.”

Grissom touched his chin, puzzled. “Moist?”

“I’m probably supposed to suck on it first,” she replied. She kissed the dimple in his chin lightly, her tongue darting out to taste it. Then, she ran her finger along the cleft. “How was that?”

“Kind of weird.” His brow furrowed. “How’d they know I had a cleft chin, anyway?”

She shrugged, staring at her papers. “None of these really...”

“Yeah.”

“This is...”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both sighed, gathering up all the sheets of paper.

Grissom sneaked a peek at Sara, who looked decidedly glum.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She took the papers over to the wastebasket, dumping them in unceremoniously. “I’m just tired, I think.”

They both lay down on the big bed, side by side, and stared at the ceiling.

“Maybe we missed something,” he said finally.

She swallowed. “Or maybe we’re just doomed as a couple.”

“Because we don’t buy into the silly heavy silken mass way of talking?”

“You heard what that article–”

“Yes, I heard,” he said impatiently. “And guess what – I looked on the Glamour website, and they also say that couples who get dry-cleaning once a week are forty-two percent more likely to stay together. Couples who have pets are ninety-three percent more likely, and for god’s sake, couples who watch soap operas together are sixty-four percent more–”

Sara turned to look at him, her eyes shining. “Do you mean it?”

He blinked. “Yeah, I mean, I think they’re probably counting Desperate Housewives as a soap opera, but–”

“No, not that – do you really mean that we can get Hank?”

“What?”

“Ninety-three percent, I mean... wow. That’s way better than the dirty talkers.”

“But–”

“And he’s really sweet, so sweet, I swear you’ll love him. Ninety-three percent, that’s practically a guarantee that if we get Hank, we’ll stay together.”

Grissom looked at her earnest face and realized, in the end, Sara’s sense of security was worth a little dog slobber.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She sighed. “Ninety-three percent. That’s like... an A minus. I wish there were something that assured us an A.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible to get an A in something like this.”

“What about those old couples we see in the park? Don’t they get an A?”

“Maybe,” he acceded. “But maybe not. Who’s to say it isn’t their fourth or fifth marriage? And who’s to say there’s any common denominator in all of the most successful couples? Maybe one couple likes salsa dancing, one likes reading, one likes painting. Really, the important thing is that they have things in common with their partners.”

Sara chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “Well... we do have a lot in common.”

“Sure do.”

“Plus we’ll have a dog.”

“Plus that.”

She rolled over, laying her head on his chest. “I’ve never had a dog either.”

“No?”

“Always wanted one.”

Grissom stroked her hair gently. “What else did you want?”

“Lots of things.” She thought for a moment. “I wanted a quiet house with lots of sunlight. And I wanted a red ten-speed bike.”

“Fancy.”

“I thought so. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What can I give you that you’ve always wanted?”

He was silent for a long moment. “Nothing.”

“I’m serious, Griss. Anything at all.”

“I know you’re serious, it’s just...” He squeezed her shoulder. “I always wanted to study insects. And help people. And I always wanted you.”

“Keep that up, and you’re gonna get lucky.”

“I already am lucky.”

She looked up at him, ready with a quick retort, but the raw affection in his eyes silenced her at once. She kissed him hard, climbing on top of him. Between the two of them, they shed their underwear quickly, and Grissom felt to be sure that she was–

“Oh my god,” he whispered, looking horrified. “Is that what a moist cleft is?”

She froze, looking down at his probing fingers. “No... there’s no way.”

“That’s just–”

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” She slid her hands down, too, feeling for his– “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I think I found your heavy silken mass.”

“Oh...”

“Um...”

“Yeah.” Grissom felt his cheeks grow hot. “You know what I first thought of when I heard heavy silken mass?”

“What?”

“Cocoons. Relative to the weight of moths, they’re pretty heavy. And caterpillars use silk to spin the cocoons, which–”

Sara put her finger on his lips, her eyes dark. “Is it wrong that that kind of talk turns me on more than anything?”

“If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right,” he growled, rolling them over and mumbling the life cycle of the Actias luna in great detail.

The end