A/N: Yep, chapter 2 already...
"Well, well," she said in a soft, throaty whisper, just as Grissom's hand shot out and grasped her questing fingers in an iron grip.
"Sara," he started desperately, in a broken plea.
"I never realized how much you liked flying," she teased, emboldened by the fact that, although he'd stopped her hand from moving, he hasn't moved it. Maybe he couldn't... 'How interesting...' she thought, in understatement.
Just then, the plane started its speed increase in preparation for liftoff, and the unexpected inertia caused both of them to press back in their seats, hands and all. Sara couldn't help but notice that Grissom seemed to be quite happy about something. 'That's an understatement,' she thought to herself, and nearly giggled with the pent up tension. The thought emboldened her further, and she lifted her head slightly, leveling a very clear gaze to Grissom's eyes.
'Anything I can help you with, Dr. Grissom?' Sara asked, shocking herself and her seatmate.
"Excuse me, but we have to ask that you replace your tray table to the upright position, please," a harried voice said to their left. Sara jerked upright--or tried to, as her right hand was still locked in place by Grissom's grasp. 'How VERY interesting,' she thought to herself, 'he still won't let me move my hand...'
"Griss!" Sara hissed in his ear, wiggling her captive hand desperately to get his attention. "I'm sorry ma'am," she said apologetically to the stewardess, finally wrenching her hand free and replacing the tray table hurriedly. "He's a little afraid of flying," she deadpanned. Attuned to her boss as she was, Sara could feel his body tense up from pent-up laughter at her ironic comment, and had to stifle back a laugh of her own as the attentive flight attendant commented on how difficult flying could be for some passengers.
"Here," the blonde woman said, as she draped a blanket over Grissom's lap for him, causing the two CSI's to sieze up with unreleased laughter again. "This should help you with the temperature difference." She continued to fuss over Grissom some more, making Sara wonder in desperation if the two of them were going to make it without collapsing into helpless laughter before the hapless woman went along her way. "Stress can cause a lot of strange reactions," she continued, seemingly oblivious to the disaster just over the horizon, so to speak. "Just call me if you need any more help!" Her job done, the stewardess continued along the path to the back of the plane, and just in time, too.
Sara buried her head into Grissom's shoulder, her body shaking with quiet laughter. Grissom was still holding onto her hand, albeit at a much safer area between the seats, and she could feel his body moving with the power of his silent glee as well.
When they could finally control their speech once more, Grissom said,
"I should demote you for that, you know." Once more, Sara's body tensed with fear, this time of a whole different nature. Did he mean...
"I haven't had that much trouble controlling my laughter since-" Grissom broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. "I almost lost it when you told her I was afraid of flying!" He chuckled, alleviating Sara's instant anxiety about the cause of his threat.
"I had to say something!" she protested weakly, "or she was going to notice..." Sara trailed off, letting innuendo do its work. He didn't pull away, and, irrationally, Sara looked up at his face as if to reassure her that it was still Gil Grissom in the seat beside her. It was. There was something barely recognizeable in his eyes, a mysterious quality that bolstered her confidence and thrilled her senses all at once. Sara gently disengaged her hand from his warm grasp, and set about 'smoothing the blanket' of nonexistent wrinkles.
Grissoms nerves, which were slightly dulled from the moment of laughter, suddenly shot back to life with an intensity he had truly believed he'd left behind in his teenage years. He reached out again, only to swing at empty air as Sara's hand danced out of his reach.
"Something wrong, sir?" Sara teased him with a rich, velvet tone to her voice that seemed to play his aching nerve endings like a harp. Sara's eyelids lowered as she ever so slowly slid her hand underneath the blanket.
"Is there something wrong with the temperature?" she whispered throatily in his ear, just as her fingertips brushed the warmest area beneath the blanket.
Grissom found that he could...not...move. All sense of where he was and who he was was buried in the heady sensation of Sara's proximity.
"I," he started to say, and stopped. His mind was a blank, and for once, he didn't give a damn. Her hand pressed gently at him, and involuntarily he jerked his hips, wanting more. Once again reason surfaced on the ocean of his senses, and he opened his mouth to say something.
"Shhhhhh," Sara soothed quietly, as her hand undid the buckle of his pants. "Don't think, just feel," she almost pleaded.
She almost needn't have bothered to speak, because the instant her hand touched his bare flesh, Gil Grissom let reason fly out the window. Finally allowing himself the almost unheard-of luxury of relaxing in her presence, he let his head drop back against the headrest and shut his eyes tightly in pure pleasure. Sara rested her head against his chest to listen to his racing heartbeat as her soft touch on him turned more purposeful. The realization that this man who held himself so rigidly in control around her at all times was placing himself literally in her hands was just incredible, and Sara felt strangely humbled by the experience. She suddenly understood the feeling that some people got when they visited Las Vegas--that inhibitions were something you checked at the door. Conquering her fear in such an erotic way had the same effect on Sara, and when Grissom started to let out a low moan of appreciation, Sara followed her own advice, and kissed him gently--partly to quiet his growling reaction, partly to feel the intensity of it firsthand.
Who would ever have thought their first kiss would be like this?