Butterfly

You have a job to do, Gil, do it!

Grissom forced himself to concentrate on his work instead of the beautiful brunette in the hotel room with him.

"Ugh. God, Griss, remind me never to sleep in a hotel bed again, please." Sara made a face as she shone her ASL light on the bed.

"Hmmm?" Grissom jolted to attention. "Sure," he replied, even though he had no idea what she just said.

She looked at him curiously, but kept quiet. "Okay." Spotting a small piece of something in a crease in the blanket, she bent over to take a picture of it, exposing a band of beautifully tanned skin on her back.

Grissom glanced up and immediately regretted doing so, for his eyes were drawn to the woman in front of him. What is that? He squinted a little, trying to figure out what was on her back. At a closer inspection, he knew.

A tattoo.

Sara Sidle has a tattoo.

He still couldn't tell what it was.

I want to know.

He stood up and went over to stand beside her. "What is it?"

Sara almost jumped. "I'm not sure," she narrowed her eyes in concentration. "It looks like some sort of plastic." She snapped a picture and picked up the object, all the while completely conscious of Grissom's breath on the back of her neck. Involuntarily, she shivered.

"Are you cold?"

She smiled. "No, I'm fine." She slipped the plasic in an evidence bag and sealed it carefully.

Grissom stepped back so she could turn around, getting a clear view of the tiny picture on her smooth skin.

A butterfly.

He smiled. He knew she loved butterflies.

Just like the ones in your stomach.

He sighed inwardly and took the brown envelope Sara handed him. Putting it in a drawer in his kit and locking it up, he asked, "Are you done?"

Sara surveyed the hotel room. "Yup." She snatched the keys from a pocket in his jacket. "This time, I get to drive."

Good. I don't think I can.

Grissom sighed again and followed her out the door.

Not again.

Grissom wandered into the trace lab and found her studying pictures of their crime scene, a frown on her face. She bent over to look at a photo more closely, and once more Grissom found himself staring at the small purple butterfly on her back. He joined her at the table. "Put a jacket on."

"Why?" Sara looked bewildered.

"Because," he answered shortly.

"Grissom..."

"Your butterfly is driving me crazy," Grissom muttered.

She burst out laughing. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Sara's eyes twinkled. "Does it really bother you?"

"Sara..." he warned.

She took a step closer. "Does this bother you?"

Grissom tried to steady his erratic breathing.

Don't come any nearer or I won't be able to resist you.

Ever so lightly, Sara stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips with his.

He caved. Sliding his arms around her waist, he kissed her with all the passion, love, and adoration he had kept inside of him for so long.
They finally broke apart for air, gasping.

"Wow," Sara panted. "Griss, that was-"

Grissom silenced her with another kiss, this one not so intense as the first, more gentle; more light. He pulled back after moment, keeping his forehead resting against hers and his arms around her middle. "You, Sara Sidle," he reprimanded, "Make me lose my senses."

The corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile. "Really?"

"Really."

And that was the last thing either of them said for a long time.