TITLE: After the Storm

AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag ... hehe, j/k.


RATING: Strong R

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

NOTES: Premature apologies for the ending. I'm getting out the tar and feathers as we speak...



Gil Grissom groaned as he shifted uncomfortably, throwing the blanket on the ground. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, elbows on his knees, hands clutching his now pounding head. The light didn't aid him in his present crusade for relief and he squinted through his fingers that rubbed his eyes lazily. The fuzziness surrounding his recent slumber and imminent hangover soon began to clear, offering crisp colours of greens and pale yellows. Brow furrowed, he shifted slightly on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar response the mattress gave to his actions. Scrubbing a hand over his face he was about to get up when he felt a hand snake around his waist, fingers spreading against his naked stomach.

He blew out a slow, deliberate breath, a warmth spreading throughout his body. His eyes widened as the hand began to explore southwards and he raised his hips, meeting the hand that now cupped his arousal. He fought hard to not push against the hand that journeyed on the other side of his boxers, and realized that he was slowly losing the battle.

A sigh or relief escaped his lips as he felt the hand return back to his stomach, and apply pressure, causing him to lie back down. His head came into contact with flesh, hard and slightly tense. He glanced to his left, a pair of firm breasts smiling back. "No wonder savants usually retreat to the mountains." He deadpanned, his head bobbing up and down in harmony with short giggled-gasps.

Catherine raised her head, giving him a playful slap on his belly. Her hands danced across his hot flesh, leaving an invisible trail from his bellybutton all the way to his chin. Her fingers teased his lips, moving up his cheeks and lingering on his closed eyes. "Gil..."

Thoughts were racing through his head, desperately trying to grasp at any memory that entered his mind. He pleaded with his mind's eye to give him access to feelings of the one night he dreamed of ... yet couldn't remember. "Hmmm?"

Fingers tripped down his arm, lacing with his own. She studied his face in comfort, knowing she no longer had to hide her feelings for the man that held her heart safely with his own. "You drank quite a lot yesterday."

He opened one eye and playfully glared at her. Shifting on the bed, he moved, lying against her body, one arm across her tummy, while his head rested against her breasts. "Well, my headache cannot deny that..." He mumbled into her skin. He scrunched up his face, trying to remember any detail at all: a kiss, a touch ... a devotion.

Catherine closed her eyes, remembering the night's events.


She remembered being in the living room, encased in darkness save for a small lamp casting light on her book. The headlights of a car filtered into her house from the window, and she rose to see a familiar Denali pull up behind hers.

She observed from her window, arms holding up the blanket that was securely wrapped around her frame. In the rain, she saw him step out of the vehicle and walk up the stairs to her front porch.

She headed towards the door and waited for the chimes of her doorbell, a knock, a voice. Silence was all that answered her, and she began to worry. Opening the door, she peered out, seeing him standing in the middle of her pathway, just staring intently at her.

"Gil." She whispered, and stepped out onto the porch, the rain pounding against the protruding roof.

When he didn't move, she sighed and stepped out a little further, still remaining dry. "Gil, get out of the rain." She said, her motherly instinct kicking in.

"I didn't want to disturb you."

She heard his voice weakly travel with a gust of wind. "So you were just going to stand in the rain and observe my garden?" She replied sarcastically, offering her hand to him. She felt the cool rain hit her warm hands, each drop leaving it's own distinct mark, until it began to pool in the crevice of her up-turned palm.

He walked shyly to her, afraid of what she may think of him, afraid what she may find out. He shakily placed his own damp hand into hers, droplets cascading from the sides. He allowed her to lead him inside and he stood in her hall, his back against the door, hand still gripping hers.

"Why are you here, Gil?" Catherine asked, her hand trying to memorize the feel of his. Before he even opened her mouth, she could smell the whiskey on his breath. She grimaced, then smiled simpathetically. "Tough day?"

He nodded, words no longer residing in his mind, body or soul. His eyes cast downwards, he himself pondered why, in his drunken state, his presence was located in the hall of his dream. His eyes finally sought hers, confidence building as the booze was setting in further.

Catherine let go of his hand and grabbing hold of his lapels, pushed soaked jacket off his shoulders. Hanging it up, she glanced at his shirt, noting that it absorbed a lot of the rain as well. She swallowed hard, debating on what to do. "Come to my room - I have a change of clothes for you."

He followed her like a lost puppy; eyes never leaving her frame. He reached out to touch her when she stopped at her door, but drew back his hand, afraid of contact - afraid of not being able to stop.

She held the door for him, closing it behind her; not knowing the reason for such action: Lindsey was away at camp, letting Catherine enjoy a night off from work, despite moments of yearning to be with her daughter.

She observed as he uneasily stood in the middle of her bedroom, knowing that despite his somewhat inebriated state, something heavy lay on his mind.

She turned and began rummaging in the last drawer and pulled out a sweater and jogging pant set. She handed it to him, "I know it's Eddie's, but I did wash it, and it's about the only thing I have to give you, and you can't possibly stay in those clothes or you'll catch a cold, so we're really out of options here -"

He gently took the clothing from her, giving her a crooked smile. "You're babbling." He cocked his head to the side, his eyes roaming her body.

She smiled, amazed that even under the influence, he still could keep her in check. "Sorry." She whispered, looking at him through her lashes.

Her smile slowly disapeared as she raised her head, her eyes locking on to his gaze. Her breathing quickened as she felt him advance, infiltrating her aura. Her eyes searched his, trying to discern whether or not a concoction of emotions she had never seen before, ones that she only wished, were brewing in his eyes.

A blink and it clouded, and Catherine tried desperately to seperate the array of emotions she saw swimming in his eyes. She watched his form break away from their close proximity, and watched as he reached for the bottom of his shirt, peeling it off his upper torso. Her eyes travelled his naked chest, her mouth beginning to water. She craved his being and felt a familiar warmth gather between her legs.

He unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to the floor and unabashedly stepped out of them, all the while holding his muse's gaze. He stepped out of the dampened pants and stood in front of her bed, his eyes taunting hers.

Her eyes trailed his entire being, now only clad in a pair of black cotton boxers. She walked up to him, giving him a gentle push, inciting him to sit down on her bed. She sat down beside him, tucking her legs under her, and passed her hand through his damp hair, her fingers teasing his greying curls. "Why are you here, Gil?" She asked again, not forgetting the fact that her previous question had remained unanswered.

He sighed and leaned back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. He felt the bed dip slightly, and felt her slide up against him. "The case," he swallowed hard, closing his eyes, "the case hit really close to home." He kept staring straight ahead. "This guy beat his wife to death, while their six-year old boy watched." He clenched his fists behind his head, pulling at his hairs. "Six years old, Catherine!"

She placed her hand upon his chest, letting it glide over the smooth skin, trying to convey a sense of comfort and understanding.

"It was a history of abuse, lies, deceit...that escalated." His voice fell to a whisper. "All I could think of was you."

"Gil..." Her voice matched his as her hand moved lower down his abdomen.

"What if it had been you?" He closed his eyes forcifully, willing the demonous thoughts to dissipate.

Catherine took a deep breath. "Ed can't hurt me anymore."

"But he did." He turned on his side, facing her. "He did and I didn't protect you."

"You did, Gil...you did." She removed her hand to place it on his cheek. "You were always there after the storm, always picking up the pieces, giving me hope, giving me the courage to face another day." Her thumb strayed, gliding over his lips. She leaned towards him, capturing his lips in a slow, tender embrace. Catherine moaned when she felt him press his weight against hers, enjoying the feeling of his impatient tongue caressing her lips, waiting to be granted access to her mouth.

Gil moved on top of her, pressing his body to hers, grinding his hips against hers. "Cath..." He sought out her lips once more, one hand moving in between her legs.

Catherine spasmed against his touch, her breaths deepening with each brush of his hand. Her lips claimed his neck, biting at the sensitive skin, causing him to press further into her; his arousal pushing against her core. "Gil, please." She begged, allowing him to remove her t-shirt and jogging pants. She sucked on his neck, branding him as hers, as he slid into her with a grunt.

Gil moved with her, revelling in the feeling of unity as she surrounded him. They held on to eachother, whispering words of love and lust, bodies buzzing with a sense of happiness and purpose - something neither of them had felt before. Gil felt her reach her pinnacle as he himself neared his release. Her collapse over the edge triggered his as they both exchanged words of a promised love, chests heaving in together as they both tried to calm their racing hearts.

Catherine sighed contently beneath his weight, the sense of comfort and safety wrapping around her like a coccoon. Butterfly kisses left her lips and journeyed to his jawline and lips. The last thing she remembered was him wrapping his arms around her, as his even breathing lulled her into a wonderland of dreams.


Gil observed her: leaning against the headboard, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, covers pooled at her waist. He propped himself on his elbow and strained his body to hers, his lips aching to taste hers.

Catherine's eyes flew open as she felt his lips collide with hers, his tongue immediately pushing past her barriers and seeking out her tongue. The two tongues danced from mouth to mouth, tasting, drinking of eachother's love. She broke away, tracing a finger down the side of his cheek. "Last night wasn't a one-time affair." She stated more than questionned.

Gil let out a cheeky smile, despite the implosive feeling inside his head. "Good, maybe next time I'll remember it." He replied, his mouth seeking out the inviting skin of her neck.

"You don't remember?" She asked, leaning her head back, giving herself to him. When he shook his head, she let out a little laugh. "Aww, that's too bad, because it was hot." She said, accentuating the last word.

"Caaath." He whined playfully.

"I mean, we're probably going to Hell - because feeling *that* good definitely has to be a sin." She kissed his temple, letting her tongue guide her mouth down to his, lavishing it with small pecks.

Gil dropped his head against her chest, letting out a lamented moan. "Cath, c'mon! You're killing me here..." He complained.

"Please, when I'm done with you, you'll feel like you've died and gone to heaven."