Blame all of this on watching Love Actually...

A tap on his shoulder as he chatted with Brass, drink in hand, the other in his pocket. He spun, suit still crisp and stunning. There was Christmas all about him, a holiday feel, something lighter and easier to touch. That little slip-slide of holiday and wholesomeness shone in his eyes and she wasn't quite sure how to respond. Perhaps the wine had wrapped itself too tightly around her tongue.

Maybe that was what happened at those things, after one had consumed too much alcohol with the spirit of the season coursing through their veins. Good will towards man, or woman, and all of that nonsense.

"Just, wanted to uh... maybe one, uh... nevermine... nevermind." Sara smiled shyly, embarrassed, nodded a hello at Brass. He smiled a bit shyly as well and raised his glass a little in her direction, knowing completely and exactly what was happening in front of him. Grissom bowed his head and smiled, secretly, at his drink. "Goodnight," she said and stepped back, clicking away on her heels.

She was brilliant in silk and Grissom had to blink once, twice, to actually scale the full height of her lengthy legs. That did him in, wondering where those legs led to and up, up, higher to her lips, eyes, her mind.

Grissom looked back at Brass who shrugged, grabbed Grissom's glass and looked away. Grissom, both hands then in his pockets, moved quickly to halt Sara from leaving by grabbing her arm. He was completely unsure but something made him spur on, stop her body from leaving his presence. "Sara, what was it that you wanted?"

A smile flitted to her lips, but she dropped her head. "No, it was... nothing." Then, she lifted her head and smiled brilliantly at him, a farce if he'd ever seen one. "Goodnight, Grissom." Again, she turned to leave, hands clasped behind her back, head bowed.

Sighing to himself, and kicking himself a mental kick in the face, "No," he called after her and sped up to cut her off, spin around and face her. "What did you want?"

"I... just wanted to ask if you wanted to dance." She shook her head. "But you wouldn't have uh, wanted to earlier and you probably don't want to now and I was about to leave anyway, so-"

"I'd, uh, love to dance."

Her mouth hung open just a little, a stunned smile slithering its way around her lips. "Oh, uh, okay... I uh..."

So Grissom just grabbed her around the wrist, spun her around and pressed a hand to the small of her back, leading her to the dance floor where countless other couples were swaying to the music. Some of them were close, some of them not. Some of them shared a dance as friends and some as something more.

He smiled down at her and she up at him as he took her into his arms, one of her hands nestled in his. It was fine; it was friends; it was fantastic having all of that skin right there in front of him.

His hands began by just barely brushing her hips, a safe distance from her skin, a safe distance from anything.


Twinkle lights and merlot and slow, slow music made it far too dangerous. And no one was watching, no one cared to watch. There was too much to talk about; there was too much mingling to be had. There was too much to dance and see and taste that no one looked on as his hands slid to sear her lower back.

No one was watching as they were engulfed by a sea of faceless faces; no one saw as she gasped.

Her cheek felt entirely too right where it laid down on his shoulder, warm and welcome. Grissom attempted to form words, tell her to stop that really, it was too much. "Sara..." was all that came out.

And she smelled of cinnamon, and she smelled of back-east winter. Something of mint and cocoa and marshmallow in the way she breathed. Pine and mulberry kissed where her fingers suddenly came up to graze the skin of his neck, right where his hair began.

He, for all of his strength and composure, allowed his eyes to slip closed. And then, well, he allowed himself to rub his chin along her hairline, nestling her face down against his suit.

The way they moved, back and forth, both of their eyes closed. It was too perfect a moment to even being to think either one of them should open their eyes and accept the real world once again.

His hand, once stationary, skimmed over the open back of her dress, passing in between silk and skin and silk again. And there, in the movements over the shiny floor, nothing counted. They could forget about it all when it was over.

Her breath against his neck, his hands on her skin, then in her hair and then, well, everywhere because he couldn't readily decide where to place his skin on hers. All was too enticing and his body shook with near overload.

Her hands on his back, in his hand, holding him close as if he really was her own... but he wasn't. He was nowhere near hers but the song, the moment seemed to gleam on and ask her to pretend all of that. The song, that was it; that asked her to hold him closer, to spread her legs just a bit wider so that their pelvises molded together.

Blue met brow met blue meeting brown and back again and again in shock. It was all too simple to let simple feeling filter though the tiny cracks.

He inhaled her scent as she inhaled his and they found a symmetry that was utterly perfect for the moment. No one was watching, no one cared. Peaceful ground in their sidestepping, in their utterly confusing dancing.

But Sara, she dug her face into his shoulder and hung on as if he were truly a life saving device and she, the only thing living in the brash Atlantic. She, clinging to him, her fingers, her arms, her breath speaking to him, making him know, making him know that he was the only thing that she valued. Breathed again, moving in waves over already heated skin. "Sorry, Griss."

"Shhh, no one's watching," and he kissed her temple and everything was simple. Everything was that never-ending love the only the movies chose to depict. And his hand snaked around her lower back, just above where the dress began once more, and pulled closer while no one was looking.

And a few more tender kisses on her temple, a few stolen breaths and the band kicked up an entirely different tune. And that was what spurred Sara back to reality. She pulled back with a confused and hurt look, smoothing down the contours of the black silk. Grissom simply shrugged and said, "No one was looking."

The only problem was that when they really disengaged and avoided the other's eyes...

Neither one of them forgot the way the other's skin felt and how they longed to touch upon it again.